Abendmusik
by msof57
Summary: Lisette is the prima pianist for the Palais Garnier, a German who desperately tries to fit into the Parisian ways and draw as little attention to herself as possible. As La Carlotta's selfishness is beginning to detriment the opera house and a young soprano begins to rise as the new prima donna, she comes to meet the man whose musicianship is the first to ever challenge her own.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The humming would come at night when she least expected it.

She knew of the rumors of the Opera Ghost. The ballerinas would huddle together, whispering with terror in their eyes if anything on the stage was out of place or a cast member suddenly fell ill. The stagehands often felt uneasy as they walked above and around the stage, jolting if anything in shadow moved too quickly. Many had even claimed to have seen the face of the Opera Ghost, pale white and soulless as it disappeared into the darkness.

She didn't believe in ghosts. But the humming was beginning to make her wonder if she was going mad from the long rehearsal hours.

It was so soft and lulling that she often didn't detect it right away. The tune always seemed so familiar to her, yet she could never place her finger on what exactly it was. She would often poke her head into the hallway, wondering if it was one of the late-night cleaning maids, but there was never anybody there.

There had been one time where she could've sworn she'd seen somebody move on the other side of the ensemble room, but when she went to investigate she discovered only the shadow of a string bass against the curtains.

Her fingers dancing across the piano was enough to keep her mind focused and unable to pick up on other things going on around her. Many joked that once she was invested in a piece of music, there was no use of trying to get in any contact with her once she began practicing. But the sweetness and richness of the voice is what drew her attention, perhaps for the first time in her life, from her practicing to the mysteriousness which was presented before her.

She knew it wasn't the so-called Opera Ghost because those who dared to say they had heard the Opera Ghost had only ever heard him speak, never sing. He was also rumored to only communicate when he wished to make alterations to a performance and nobody ever paid attention to the orchestras with them buried beneath stage in the stalls.

Resting her elbow on the piano lid and feeling the bumpy flesh on her cheek, she gave a disheartened smile. Nobody would be interested in speaking to her anyway the minute they saw her. It was the reason why she fit in so well as part of the orchestra, where she could be heard but never seen, just as she liked it. It was part of the reason why she practiced late at night in the opera house, when the place was nearly abandoned and where she was less likely to run into someone or be overheard.

She rested her fingers on the ivory keys, closing her eyes briefly before taking a deep breath and diving into the beginning of Act IV, the most challenging act in the opera. Her fingers flew and stumbled, causing her to mutter under her breath and wipe stray pieces of hair out the way that had fallen into her view. Despite the challenges of this particular opera, she loved being in the ensemble room this time of night when she knew she wouldn't be disturbed and she could play as loudly as her heart desired.

It wasn't until she finally reached the chorus in the final scene did a strange sound catch her ear.

Letting the chord she was playing ring out around her, she abruptly took her hands off the keys and whipped around, squinting in the dark at the areas of the ensemble room that weren't lit by candles. It was abandoned, except for the occasional swish of a curtain near an open window. She couldn't help but feel a shiver go up her spine and stood slowly, squinting as she picked up the candle she had near the piano and took a step forward. Suddenly, she couldn't help but let out a gasp and feel the candle fall to the floor. She flew to the other side of the room, covering her ears and shaking, looking wildly about her. She could have sworn she had heard that mysterious humming right by her ear, but as she cowered in the nearby corner, the room was as silent as it had been before she'd begun practicing.

She went back to the piano, picking up the candleholder to use as a weapon if need be. But when she sat at the piano bench, she remained there for several minutes before daring to play again.

As she played, she let her fingers begin to take a mind of her own, venturing from the recitative at the beginning of the act to the tune which had been hummed in her ear, filling the silent opera house with a satisfaction she couldn't quite place and didn't know if she'd ever understand.


	2. First Rehearsal

_May 1880, Paris_

"You're not still studying those, are you?"

Armel's voice jolted her from her seat, knocking her reduced score to the floor.

"Stop frightening me like that," Lisette Geiger muttered, scooping the music back into her arms.

"Sorry," he said, taking a seat next to her. The pair were settled in the auditorium of the Palais Garnier, watching as the stage hands pushed set pieces into place and lowered backdrops. This afternoon was one of the final rehearsals before they had their closing performances of Massenet's _La roi de Lahore_. It was a strange thing for her to think about. In her three years working at the Palais Garnier, this was only the second opera she'd been a part of. However, this was her first performance as the prima pianist and she could feel her heart racing in her chest as she glanced at the challenging music in her arms, fearing the rehearsal that was to happen in an hour.

"You need to relax," Armel assured. "Carlotta isn't nearly as terrifying as others make her out to be."

"I'm not afraid of Carlotta," she scoffed, tossing her braid over her shoulder. "It's Maestro and the managers I'm worried about. Monsieur Poligny is dedicated to that woman and will agree to her faster than you have time to open your mouth. And Maestro is too soft spoken to dare argue against the managers."

Armel shrugged. "It will be your first rehearsal with the vocalists. Everyone else will understand even if Carlotta doesn't."

His words didn't make her feel any better, but she took comfort knowing that the Piangi, the lead tenor, would be there who was much kinder in his criticism than Carlotta ever could be.

"You're a bassoonist," she teased. "You wouldn't understand."

He laughed. "You're right, I wouldn't, and thank goodness for that."

They fell into silence, hearing the boisterous commands of the chief stage manager, Joseph Buquet, as they began to move about props for the beginning of Act II, what the general ensemble would be rehearsing. Before coming to Paris, she'd had experience of sitting in rehearsals in the opera house in Dresden, where rehearsals were in the morning so the cast and orchestra could have a break in case of evening performances the same day. The prima donna in Dresden had been a much more gracious woman compared to the spoiled and conceited La Carlotta who was the resident leading soprano at the Palais Garnier. She blatantly refused to show up for morning rehearsals for years, but the current managers, Monsieur Debienne and Poligny, were so dependent on her popularity within the opera goers in Paris that they insisted on adjusting the opera house's entire schedule rather than risk losing her. Lisette could never understand what these Parisians found so endearing about her. Her voice was past its prime, wobbly and flat unless the orchestra adjusted to her intonation, and her voice was simply loud with no sense of musical phrasing or shape. The orchestra often made jokes about her in their rehearsals without the cast and Maestro Reyer was known to roll his eyes so far back when she criticized them that his eyeballs were in danger of falling out of his skull.

"I need to go warm-up," she said, struggling to balance her score in her arms. "I'll see you tomorrow for the full orchestra rehearsal."

"Good luck," Armel called, slicking his jet-black hair against his head as he spoke.

She left the auditorium, dodging cleaning maids and valets who were milling about the Grand Staircase in preparation for tomorrow's closing night. She tried to ignore the heavy weight that seemed to have settled in the pit of her stomach as she made her way to the ensemble room upstairs.

It was only her first month as the prima pianist for the Palais Garnier. Two months ago, she had still been the seconda pianist, only responsible for doubling parts in the orchestra and filling in on performances when the primo pianist had other obligations. But he had retired suddenly at the end of March, not leaving the Palais Garnier time to hire another pianist, making Lisette the sole keyboardist in the opera house. It was the first time in Paris that a woman had been given the opportunity as the prima pianist for the Paris Opera Company and she was determined to not let anybody think they'd done wrong by giving her this job. Today was her first day having a rehearsal with the leads of the opera, customary before a large ensemble rehearsal. However, she'd only been told about it two days prior, giving her little time to practice the reduced score she'd been handed. Maestro Reyer and the primo tenor, bass, and mezzo-soprano were very forgiving, often admitting to their own mistakes themselves. La Carlotta was an entirely different subject. She demanded perfection, often believing she never performed wrong despite what others might say and often ridiculed those who she thought messed her up or weren't performing to her standards. Lisette had been fortunate until now to never personally work with the proud soprano and she wondered of how her impression might be altered after their meeting today.

Maestro Reyer was waiting in the ensemble room upstairs, his gray hair slightly out of his place and his mustache ruffled from twisting the ends of it so much. He was an elderly gentleman and one of the finest musicians she had ever met. This was his nineteenth season with the Paris Opera Company and was highly respected within the country of France. She curtsied before settling herself at the piano, warming her fingers up while Reyer practiced conducting through Act IV and V which they were to run through with the lead singers in just a few moments. She tried to take deep breaths as she let her scales and arpeggios dance beneath her fingers, trying to reassure herself that she was overthinking the entire rehearsal and it would be over in just a couple of hours.

The rehearsal started with an aria from Piangi, playing the lead male role of Alim. Carlotta was nowhere to be found but the maestro didn't seem concerned as well as the others. It wasn't until they reached the beginning of Act V, nearly an hour later, when Reyer showed his frustration.

"Where the devil is she?" he asked, wiping sweat from his brow. "I specifically said rehearsal was to begin at one o'clock and it's nearly two! Closing night will be a disaster! Monsieur Massenet himself will be there?"

"Massenet?" Lisette said quietly, referring to the composer of _Le roi de Lahore_.

"Yes, Mademoiselle Geiger," he answered. "He hasn't attended a single performance of this opera since its opening night nearly two years ago! We'll be ruined if we don't master these acts. We've got a new mezzo for the performance, a new pianist, and ballerinas who can hardly tie their shoes. I don't know what Debienne was thinking by extending the performances for this long!"

Just as he finished his speech, they heard Carlotta's heavy Spanish accent ringing through the walls. Piangi seemed to be the only person who lit up at the sound of her voice, while everyone else seemed to either shudder or scowl. She entered the room wearing an extravagant green dress, covered in gold thread and fake jewels on the sleeves. Her dark hair was pulled into a tall and elegant up-do, fashioned with green feathers and a velvet hat, dangerously close to dipping over her eyes. If others thought her singing voice was hard to listen to, they had never heard her shrill speaking voice. She never spoke softly, merely barking orders at those who surrounded her, expecting compliance on a whim. She traveled with her small dog, an annoying little thing which would never stop yapping, and her attendant who was an ugly, plump woman that carried a bottle of rum in her dress.

"Señora," Reyer said darkly, barely bowing to her. "We were just beginning to start Act V."

"No, no," Carlotta said, removing the gloves on her hands. "I'm here to go over Act II."

Lisette stiffened. She hadn't been prepared to play Act II. Reyer had informed her it would just be Act IV and V for their rehearsal today. She was able to play the piano part for Act II she had in her own personal score she used within the orchestra, but she hadn't a chance to look at Act II in the reduced score she'd been given just two days before.

"Señora," Reyer said, slicking back his hair and stepping towards her, "I've called these fine musicians here to rehearse Act IV and V. We desperately need the rehearsal time because we will not have much time to rehearse these sections when we're with the entire ensemble."

"Bah!" the prima donna exclaimed, waving his comment away. "Act II, I command it!"

Lisette stiffened as Carlotta came by the piano, her strong perfume filling up the room and she did her best from covering her nose with her hand. With shaking fingers, she opened to Sita's aria in Act II and began to play, trying to stay calm as she sight read.

Despite what she claimed, Carlotta was not a strong literary musician, and therefore had a hard time criticizing others if she could not read or understand the notes that were on the page before her. Lisette was aware that if she did stumble, Carlotta would have a hard time pointing out exactly what notes were played incorrectly.

The aria began as a short recitative, with the prima donna's barking voice turned into barking singing before elating into song. Lisette winced as they entered the second page of the aria. Why did Massenet write so much of this song in Carlotta's passagio? It sounded terrible and just by looking at the soprano's expression, it was evident she was struggling with the difficult passage.

Massenet's _Le roi de Lahore_ had a French libretto, making it easy for audiences to understand the plot of the complicated storyline. Carlotta played the role of Sita, a priestess in Lahore, who is in love with King Alim, played by Piangi. Scindia, the minister to the king, is also in love with Sita and demands she be released from her vows after meeting with King Alim in secret. Act II was focused on Sita camping near a battle where King Alim is fighting and promised to return to her later. This aria was supposed to be a declaration of love and well-being for the king by Sita, but Carlotta's voice made these words of love seem solemn and disregarded as hardly any emotion crossed her face.

Reyer cut Lisette off, rapping his baton on his music stand. "Señora," he said with a sigh, "More emotion, please! This is the height of dear Sita's character and Monsieur Massenet's favorite aria in the opera."

"Maestro," Carlotta spat, smacking her hand on the piano lid, " _I_ will decide what emotions _I_ think are appropriate. If Señor Massenet intended on showing emotion in this scene, he should have written it down in his performance instructions!"

"The emotion is in the words, madame," Lisette said meekly.

She instantly regretted speaking up, for Carlotta's eyes flickered dangerously and she turned so her back was to Lisette, looking at the other vocalists who were sitting with their personal vocal scores in their laps, staring wide eyed at the maestro, pianist, and soprano.

"Ubaldo!" Carlotta exclaimed, pointing a finger at Piangi, "Do I not give enough emotion?"

"Oh course, darling," the tenor replied, daring a look at Reyer while he spoke.

"You see?" Carlotta spat at Reyer. "My Ubaldo agrees that what I am doing is just fine. Why don't you leave yourself to the conducting, Maestro, and I'll focus on the performing!"

Lisette could see Reyer gritting his teeth through thin, pursed lips, raising his arms once more to begin the aria.

If there had been little emotion in the first run through, there was none the second time through. By the time the aria was over, Carlotta looked decidedly pleased with herself as she took a seat, instantly demanding to be fanned by her attendant. Jean Laselle, the primo baritone who was portraying Scindia, stood and began his recitative of beginning a coup with Alim's soldiers. As he began singing, Lisette instantly relaxed, admiring the man's beautiful phrasing, clear diction, and easiness of manner. However, she couldn't help but feel Carlotta's eyes on her during the rest of the rehearsal, making her blush furiously.

At the end of rehearsal, she lingered at the piano while the rest of the ensemble left, chattering away about preparations for the full rehearsal in just a few hours. She massaged her wrists, careful to check if she'd been playing with any tension. During the height of performance season, such as now, she often found herself playing eight to ten hours a day. She never complained though. Many women could only dream of the opportunities she had. She was a professional musician that was paid and salaried. During her time at the Paris Conservatoire, she had been told over and over that she should not expect much upon graduating. Her professors and teachers even recommended she take up composition and write underneath a male pseudonym, but she knew she was destined to perform.

Being a pianist was the perfect opportunity for someone like Lisette who was shy and hated being the center of attention. She didn't much like performing solo piano works unless it was to private audiences to people she was intimate with, but being a pianist in an orchestra like the Paris Opera Company or being an accompanist like she'd been during this afternoon's rehearsal was exactly the kind of challenge she enjoyed. She found music was never quite satisfactory unless she was collaborating with other people to create it, but during times like these, it was always trying to remain positive when working around the same people all the time.

Avoiding the crowd of ballerinas and chorus members which were gossiping and preparing for their upcoming rehearsal, she ducked backstage to a private corner where she could mark her score for the spots that were still troubling her in Act IV. Absentmindedly twirling the end of her braid in her fingertips, she chewed on the end of her pen, her brow furrowed as she looked among the many arpeggios that littered the page she was looking at it. The noise in the background seemed to disappear until a hand appeared on top of her score, startling her.

She jumped, bringing a hand to her heart as she looked into a pair of pale, blue eyes.

"Meg!" she scolded, "Don't do that! You know how easy it is to get me started."

"And that's exactly why I do it," the young ballerina exclaimed, sitting herself next to Lisette.

Meg Giry was one of the oldest girls in the ballet corps and the closest to Lisette's age. Meg was seventeen, thin and strong with thick muscled legs and a slender upper body. She had golden hair that tumbled to her waist, the same color as Lisette's, which made them often mistaken as sisters. Lisette was seven years older than Meg, and the maturity in the difference of their ages often showed, but Lisette was thankful for the female companionship being in an orchestra with all male musicians except for her.

"You have that look in your eye," Lisette said, closing her music and adjusting to take her friend's hand. "What's going on?"

"Poligny has claimed to see the opera ghost!"

Lisette raised an eyebrow. "You know better than anyone that he's a superstitious old man."

Meg rolled her eyes. "Maman's being very mysterious about the whole thing. I dared ask her about it but she wouldn't say a word!"

Lisette smirked. Meg's mother, Madame Giry, was the ballet mistress was one of the most fearsome women Lisette had ever met. She dressed in black clothes and carried a cane at all time, which she often used on young girls or stagehands who dared to misbehave when she was nearby. It was rumored that Madame Giry was close friends with the opera ghost, for all letters were delivered through her. There was also a rumor that the opera ghost received a monthly salary of 20,000 francs. No one could prove it, but Madame Giry was supposedly the one who delivered that large sum from the managers to the ghost. Even to her own daughter, Madame Giry hardly spoke of anything but the ballet corps at the Palais Garnier and kept her activities outside of the ballet studio discrete.

"Well, now we know to expect him to be even more silly than usual," Lisette said, standing. "The old fool! He's always muttering about strange superstitions going on around here. It was only a matter of time before he claimed to see the opera ghost."

"Oh, Lisette!" Meg cried, throwing her hands in the air. "Don't be doubtful of the opera ghost, he doesn't like that! If he knows you don't believe in him, it's only a matter of time before he'll show himself to you."

Lisette waved the comment away before making her way down to the opera stalls. Unlike on stage, the members of the orchestra were generally quiet except for the sound of warming up on their instruments. As she settled into the nook near the back corner of the stalls where the piano stood, she briefly glanced at the air vent near her feet. For a moment, she was a flash of white which made her take a double take.

Her heart began pounding in her chest. She could have sworn when she'd looked down the air vent, she'd seen a gaping hole among the white where an eye should have been, but there was nothing there now, merely darkness.

She shook her head, arranging the music on the piano stand. All this talk of the opera ghost was getting to her head. But her mind couldn't help but wander to the mysterious humming she'd heard around the opera late at night. She was determined to find out what stagehand was being funny and was intending on spooking her.

Armel Roux waved to her from the other side of the stalls, coming near her with his bassoon reed soaking in his mouth.

"How was the rehearsal?" he muttered despite the reed in his mouth.

She shrugged. "Carlotta was to be as expected. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to know the orchestra's accompaniment any better than I did when I was sight reading."

Armel laughed. He was dressed in tweed pants and a shirt, his sleeves rolled up and sweat glistening on his forehead. The orchestra stalls were known to be notoriously hot and she could already feel her lower back beginning to soak into her dress. However, it was strange to see him dressed so casually. They were often used to seeing each other dressed in all black, even in orchestra rehearsals on the rare occasion the composer would come and visit. It was rare, but a formality Reyer insisted upon.

Armel was nowhere near handsome. He was a short, pudgy man with a thick mustache much too large for his face. She knew he had grown it to help him appear older, but it only made him look like a little boy despite the fact that he was three years older than her. He often wore his shoulder length black hair slicked against his head which only seemed to bring out the redness in his cheeks. It was especially funny when he had to play a particularly long passage on the bassoon without taking a breath and his face would turn purple. He would always become furious with her for laughing at him.

"That's a relief," he said. "I'm sure she'll have plenty to say at this upcoming rehearsal."

"If she even shows up," Lisette says harshly.

Armel rook his reed out of his mouth, turning to head back to his instrument. "Sounds like you both got off to a great start."

Lisette scowled at his back, but rested her hand on her cheek. She winced as she felt the bumpy flesh on her left cheek beneath her fingertips, flushing red and trying to catch her reflection in the nearby mirror. The moment she saw her piercing green eyes staring back at her, she turned away, blinking back the tears which were always careful to overflow when she saw her face.

As she began practicing the passages she'd circled earlier backstage in Act IV, she tried to avoid the gaze of orchestra members who were settling into their seats. She knew she was the ugliest girl in the Palais Garnier, perhaps in Paris, and she hated when others stared. Nobody would ever understand what it meant to be looked upon differently, pitied, and to some, despised. It was why she focused on her music and hardly gave attention to anybody else. Armel and Meg were the only two she'd opened herself up to because of their genuine hearts. There were many people in the orchestra, chorus, and ballet corps she'd loved to get to know better, but she saw the way they looked at her, and she knew it would never be possible to fit in.

She'd remain behind the keys of the piano where she knew she'd always belong.

* * *

 **Don't forget to rate and review!**

 **Updates will come as quickly as life allows! Just for fair warning, I am in the middle of my student teaching right now with graduation coming up in May, so updates may be far and wide or close together depending on my weekends. I've been so excited to write this FanFiction for so long. I spent my winter vacation reading Leroux's _Phantom of the Opera_ , Kay's _Phantom_ , and watching the 2004 musical movie to prepare for this. **

**My goal with this FanFiction is to keep the story line the same as in Leroux's and Kay's novels. There are elements of the musical which I will incorporate when necessary, and I will clarify those in later chapters.**

 **Lisette and Armel are my original characters, everyone else is true to the novel or a true historical figure who actually performed in the Palais Garnier in the 1880's (such as the primo baritone).**

 **I'd love to hear first impressions of what you think of Lisette, the heroine for our story. More background and physical descriptions will be offered in later chapters, but the physical descriptions I've given her so far will be essential in later chapters.**


	3. A New Face

_May 1880, Paris_

The closing night of _Le roi de Lahore_ had been a wild success.

Despite the critiques from Reyer and the rest of the orchestra, Carlotta triumphed in her role as Sita, dominating the stage and making the audience go wild after her character's suicide. It was the typical operatic romance, with the two lovers dying only to later be reunited in heaven. Lisette had to admit that the music was beautiful and looked forward to meeting the composer in person at the party in the Grand Foyer to celebrate the success of the opera since its premiere two years ago.

She was still in the orchestra stalls beneath the stage, listening to the remaining audience buzzing with delight as they left the auditorium. She felt she'd held her breath through all five acts of the opera and didn't let it out until the cast took their final bows. Her part had not been as challenging as she had been anticipating, and being a pianist she naturally found several parts in the score where she was doubling other members of the orchestra. However, after tonight, it would be revealed at the orchestra rehearsal in two days' time what the next opera would be and everyone was anxious to find out after performing _Le roi de Lahore_ for almost two years.

She collected the last of her music, slowly making her way back to the ensemble room to return her score before going to the party. She hadn't intended on going, but Meg had made her feel so guilty for missing it that she decided she would go if only to enjoy a glass of champagne. Monsieur Massenet would be there as well and she had every intention of getting to converse and admire his music on a personal level. As she put her things away once she reached the ensemble room, she caught her reflection in the nearby mirror and scowled, turning away quickly, trying to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks.

Lisette always dressed as plainly as she could. For performances, she wore a black cotton dress, with a high buttoned color and long sleeves. She wore no makeup, except for powder, and kept her hair in a traditional milkmaid plait on top of her head to keep it out of her face. The plainer she looked, the less people were likely to stare, just as she wanted it to be.

Lisette was not a Parisian, nor even French. She was German, having spent most of her life in the towns of Leipzig and Dresden before coming to Paris to study at the Conservatoire at age seventeen. It had been the greatest decision of her life, but also the decision that was responsible for the sorrow she carried with her today.

When she was nineteen years old, she had been shopping in a jewelry store on the same block as the Conservatoire. Just as she was about to pay and leave, a thief came into the store, demanding money from the owner by threatening him with a knife. Lisette had been frightened and dared not move, but when the old lady couldn't open the register quickly enough, the thief decided to take things into his own hands. In his attempt to leap over the counter, he had swung his knife outwards and made contact with Lisette's face, creating a deep cut that ran from her right temple, across her nose, down to the lower left of her jaw. She had twenty-two stitches put in and an angry red scar had remained from the incident to this day. It was a shocking upset to her appearance, making her look deranged and frightening to others on the street. As a child, she had been considered exceptionally beautiful with her straight, beautiful blonde hair and bright green eyes. Lisette looked the part of a true German, for with her pale complexion, there was no way to hide the scar on her face even with her desperate attempts to cover it with powder.

Upon meeting new people, she was extremely shy, for she could feel their stares as they tried to guess what happened to her. It made her extremely uncomfortable and was the reason why she chose so few people to be open with. Meg had promised to stay close during the party so she wouldn't be left alone and have to make small talk with strangers.

Smoothing her dress and taking a deep breath, she made her way to the Grand Foyer, following the sound of lively music and chattering voices. As she peered into the hall, she couldn't help but feel her eyes grow wide and her heart begin to race. The room was packed with finely dressed men and women from corner to corner with a large table filled with refreshments and sparkling wine. She could see Reyer chatting happily with Debienne and Poligny near the back of the room and Madame Giry sitting just a few feet away, sipping at a glass of wine and watching the young ballerinas in attendance giggling as they twirled to the music with handsome partners.

Lisette craned her neck, but couldn't seem to find Meg anywhere. For a moment she debated going home for the evening and telling Meg the following day she had fallen ill, but a pair of eyes caught hers and she nearly sighed in relief from seeing a familiar face.

Armel offered his arm to her, which she took gratefully, and led her to the refreshment table where they could be out of the way of the dancing and keep to themselves.

"I've never seen a party this big for closing night!" Armel laughed, motioning to the number of people in the room.

"Is it because Monsieur Massenet is here?" Lisette inquired, pouring herself a glass of strong wine.

"There are rumors of Debienne and Poligny's retirement," he whispered.

Lisette nearly spat out her wine. "What?"

Armel nodded. "I heard it from one of the flutists yesterday. Apparently Poligny's health is failing and Debienne's been talking about retirement for years."

"But who will take over?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know. Let's just hope that whoever is hired isn't as big of a fan of Carlotta as the current managers are."

"Or as superstitious," Lisette replied coolly.

"I don't mind the superstition," Armel said, biting back a laugh. "It's always entertaining to see Poligny turn white as a sheet when the opera ghost is mentioned!"

She smirked, sipping the last of her wine as she continued to search for Meg.

"It's too bad you showed up when you did," Armel commented, taking her arm to keep a dancing couple from bumping into them. "Monsieur Massenet left just moments before. He didn't stay very long, not surprising though. Apparently, he's not much for gatherings like these."

Her heart dropped. Meeting Massenet in person was the primary reason she'd come tonight!

"Have you seen Meg?" she inquired glumly.

"I believe I saw her dancing," he replied. "She was with the Vicomte de Chagny."

"A viscount?" Lisette asked, her eyes widening. "When have we had a viscount in attendance at the opera?"

"His name is Raoul," Armel said, unable to hide the jealousy in his voice at the appearance of Lisette's interest. "His brother, the count, is here as well. It seems we have friends in nobility who are fans of the opera."

"It's about time we had some new faces in the audience," she muttered. "Are they young?"

"The viscount is," Armel said. "He must be younger than you; still a boy in my eyes! But his brother is far older. I'd say twenty years his senior."

She scanned the room, trying to imagine what these noblemen might look like. She managed to find Meg among the twirling couples in the middle of the room, her long blonde hair free of its bun and hanging around her waist, but she couldn't quite make out the features of the young man she was with. Armel suddenly stiffened and bowed, making Lisette turn to see what was behind her.

"My lord," Armel said behind her with absolute solemnity.

Lisette was looking at a man who must be in his late thirties, standing before her dressed in a dark tail coat with matching trousers with a winged shirt with a smart, white bow tie. Although much older than she, he was extremely handsome, with short blonde hair, long sideburns, and a thin mustache on his upper lip. He had sparkling blue eyes which seemed to light up at Armel's gesture and carried a sense of humbleness with him despite his rank which was drawing much of the attention in the room.

"Monsieur Roux," the man said, offering his hand out, "How good to see you again. I say, I quite enjoyed the number of bassoon solos in tonight's performance. Quite an underappreciated instrument, wouldn't you agree? I highly enjoy the timbre. It's too bad more people don't share my musical tastes!"

Lisette watched in amazement as Armel shook the earl's hand, a formality which wasn't normally shared with someone like Armel or herself who were much lower in rank. However, it made her heart soar to see Armel treated as an equal and she readily decided she admired this man and wished to become acquainted with him. The man must have read her mind, for after they finished shaking hands he turned to her.

She saw his eyes wonder for a moment, not even for a second, across her face where her scar stood out despite the powder she'd used in a desperate attempt to cover it up. But his eyes focused in on hers rather than her face which made her almost burst into tears with relief. She often caught Armel and Meg staring at her scar if they weren't careful and it was refreshing to have someone see her rather than the imperfections of her appearance.

"My lord, this is Lisette Geiger, our prima pianist," Armel said, motioning to her. She could feel him move closer to her, almost possessively, before continuing. "Mademoiselle Geiger, this is Philippe, Comte de Chagny."

"My lord," she said, curtsying and lowering her eyes. The count took her hand and kissed it lightly, sending a flush of pink to her cheeks and trying to ignore the giggle that dared to escape.

"The prima pianist?" the earl said. "I've never heard finer playing in my life as I did this evening. It was absolutely splendid!"

She smiled at his compliment. "You flatter me, my lord, but I was simply just doing my job."

"Mademoiselle Geiger is too humble," Armel teased. "She is the best pianist in Paris, perhaps in all of Europe! She studied at all of the finest conservatories before coming to the opera house!"

"Which conservatories, mademoiselle?" the count asked, pouring himself a glass of champagne.

From his earlier comments on Armel's playing, she was aware that the count was a musical person and could understand fine from poor performances. She hoped her answers were impressive.

"Hochschule für Musik Carl Maria von Weber," she answered quickly in her native German, the name rolling off her tongue, "And the Paris Conservatoire."

"So you're from Dresden?" the earl asked, recognizing the famous German conservatory.

"Not really," Lisette answered truthfully. "I was born in Leipzig before moving to Dresden for my father's law practice."

"I see," the earl replied pleasantly. "How does Paris compare to your homeland?"

Lisette smiled fondly. "Paris is more beautiful than I ever could have imagined and there are for more opportunities here for me as a woman musician than I could've hoped for in Germany. But I'm still finding the French language hard to master. I find you all very lucky to have been able to speak it since birth!"

Armel wrinkled his nose. "Yet German is perhaps the most difficult language to pronounce."

The three of them laughed and Lisette was at ease. How long had it been since she'd had a conversation with someone she'd met only moments before? The count seemed to put her insecurities to rest with his kindness and sincerity. "

What brings you to the opera, my lord?" Lisette asked. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of having you here before."

"My younger brother is quite fond of the opera," the count replied. "He turned twenty-one this spring and wants to see more of French society. I'm afraid we're quite in the country in Chagny and the parties aren't nearly as delightful as here in Paris."

"Do you come to Paris often?" Armel inquired. "Isn't it a two day journey from Chagny?"

"My late father has a house here in town," the count replied. "I have stayed in Chagny the last ten years or so to take care of my brother and two sisters, but now that my sisters are married and Raoul is of age, it's time we come to Paris to spend our winters here."

"Are you intending on staying during the spring as well?" Lisette asked, confused since they were nearing mid-May and the winter had been long over.

"Just for a week," the count answered. "We came to see what needed to be done to get the house organized and get a feel for society before we return in November."

"How delightful!" Lisette exclaimed. "I hope we will see you more at the opera house when you and your brother are here during the winter."

"It's my brother's intention to be here for every performance of the new opera," the count answered with a smile.

Lisette could see Armel rolling his eyes at her eagerness, but she ignored him and continued to inquire about the count's journey to Paris and how he liked the city compared to the countryside. She found out, to her delight, that he was a bachelor, only ever having time to look after the family's estate after his parents' deaths and taking care of his younger siblings. He said he was looking forward to connecting with the families that had been friends of his father's as a child and hoped to expand his social circles to also have his brother married.

"And what about yourself?" Lisette asked, surprised at her own boldness. "Won't you find time to have a wife and settle down?"

The count chuckled. "I'm a bit too old to be thinking about settling down. Perhaps if there's a girl out there silly enough to marry an old fool like me."

"Don't start calling yourself old, my lord!" Armel exclaimed. "For if you're old, you don't want to know how old the maestro and managers are!"

This set the three of them into another fit of laughter before the earl excused himself, stating that the night was late and he needed to get home to rest before attending to some business in the morning.

"What a pleasant man," Lisette remarked after he left.

"Very pleasant indeed," Armel agreed. "But he's much too old for you, Lisette, and far too wealthy."

She blushed. "Oh, keep your opinions to yourself!"

She left him standing at the refreshment table, weaving in and out of the crowd to find Meg, who must be tired out from dancing by now. She found her sitting with the prima ballerina, La Sorelli, fanning herself with one of the program's from that night's performance.

"There you are!" Meg exclaimed when she saw her, motioning to join them on the divan they were lounging on. It was clear they were recovering from dancing just as Lisette had expected, for both ballerinas were glowing with sweat and giddy with laughter.

"I see you had the opportunity to dance with the most eligible bachelor in attendance tonight," Lisette commented to Meg. Meg blushed.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play dumb, Meg!" scolded Sorelli. "We all saw you dancing with the viscount!"

This sent Meg into a fit of giggles, throwing herself into Lisette's arms as she wiped happy tears away.

"Oh, he's so _handsome_!" Meg exclaimed. "I've never seen a more beautiful creature in my entire life. His eyes are bluer than mine and his hair is as fine as the horses we keep for the operas. And he knows so much of music, poetry, art…" Her sentence trailed off as if she was in a daze and Lisette saw Sorelli roll her eyes.

"Don't go on encouraging her," Sorelli lectured. "I told her not to get her hopes up. Any viscount would be out of his mind to marry someone underneath his rank!"

"He might if they're good enough!" spat Meg. "Just because you don't have a viscount venturing after you doesn't mean you can be poisonous to me!"

Sorelli sighed. "Don't flatter yourself, Meg. I'm not jealous of you a bit. I can get any man I want with my title as prima ballerina, but I know a man who is of higher rank that pursues a woman of lower rank is a fool."

Meg continued to scoff at Sorelli's remarks and rested herself against Lisette, obviously dozing from too much wine.

"Did you have the opportunity to meet the viscount?" Sorelli asked Lisette.

"Not the viscount," Lisette replied, "But I did meet his older brother, the count."

"And what is the count like?" Sorelli questioned, eyeing Meg's sleepy state. "Is he anything like the handsome viscount?"

"Well, he's older," Lisette answered truthfully. "He must be at least fifteen years my senior, but he's extremely handsome, and I'd imagine far more wealthy than the viscount could ever hope to be."

Sorelli nodded thoughtfully at her comment. A short silence fell between the three women, most of their concern focused on Meg who was the youngest and in the worst shape from the excitement of the evening. Sorelli was young, but at the prime of her dancing career. She was nineteen and had only been the prima ballerina for half a year, but she had taken the Parisian audiences by storm. No one could resist the prima ballerina's beautiful figure and elegant dancing. Sorelli danced with maturity and grace beyond her years. She was Madame Giry's pride and joy, for Sorelli was the only person Madame Giry willingly complimented, even above her own daughter. Lisette knew, however, that if Sorelli didn't continue with her practices and hard work, Meg would soon surpass Sorelli in skill and grace alike. Sorelli's beautiful black hair, which was normally kept in a tight bun on the top of her head, had been curled and pinned to frame her face, accentuating her dark eyes. Even with her full skirt, you could make out her strong, shapely legs underneath and Lisette envied her. Sorelli had a thin face and was not considered beautiful by her features, but her eloquent movement and strong muscles made up for it, sending half of the men in Paris swooning after her. At one point, Carlotta had been the primary focus of the young men in Paris, until wrinkles began forming along her neckline and her romance with the primo tenor, Piangi, became well known among the opera-goers.

The evening ended with helping a tipsy Meg to her dormitory with the help of Sorelli, before bidding goodnight to Armel and heading home. Just as she was heading down the Grand Staircase, preparing herself for the walk home, she cursed herself when she realized her shawl was not around her shoulders. She realized that she'd left it on the divan when she'd sat with the two ballerinas earlier and prayed there would be no servants cleaning up as she entered the room.

To her surprise, the remnants of that evening's celebrations had been cleared away and the room was abandoned, the only sound of the late spring breeze blowing through an open door. The Grand Foyer had always Lisette's most treasured spots in the Palais Garnier, with its exquisite decorations and wall of glass windows and doors, but she found it even more enchanting on nights like tonight, where the crystal chandelier and golden embellishments among the walls captured the moonlight pouring through the windows. She quickly made her way to the divan, relieved to find her shawl laying upon it, undisturbed, before glancing at the ceiling. Another prominent feature of the Grand Foyer were the gorgeous paintings above them, filled with mythological Greek gods and goddesses who were told to bring good luck upon the performances. She stared into the face of Apollo, the god of music, when something made her nearly fall backwards.

The humming had returned.

It was the same lulling, haunting melody she'd heard just days before. She feared the voice would lure itself to her ear like it had done a few days prior, but it sounded more distant this time, assuring her that it meant no harm. As she glanced around the room, she tried to find out what stagehand was playing jokes on her, determined to give them an earful if she caught them in the act. However, the more she looked about the room, the more she was able to concentrate herself on where the voice was coming from, and she glanced up in horror to realize that the voice seemed to be coming from Apollo himself.

She shook her head. This was impossible! It was a painting! It was most certainly a trick! She'd heard of ventriloquists and knew it was a rising practice among young men in Paris. She turned quickly to leave, afraid of being confronted, when she stopped in her tracks, a hand flying to her mouth.

 _Jesu, meine Freude, meines Herzens Weide, Jesu, meine Zier!_

She recognized the tune!

She was elated with joy. She sang the words outloud as the voice continued to hum, the words not being sung but so evident in the familiar hymn of her childhood. It was from Bach's third motet, the most beloved by her of all of his works, which was often performed in the church she grew up in as a child. As she continued to listen, the voice seemed to grow, suddenly not coming from solely Apollo, but filling the room in exuberant sound! She couldn't help but hum along the alto line, creating a beautiful harmony between the beautiful voice and herself. When they reached the final cadence and the voice that was surrounding her evaporated, she was left with tears streaming down her face, numb as she looked at the empty and lifeless room around her.

She was certain of two possibilities. The first was that she was going mad or that there was a slight chance that the infamous opera ghost might be real after all.

* * *

 **Don't forget to rate and review!**

 **There's certainly a lot of foreshadowing in this chapter about a relationship that's about to develop and I'm curious to know who you think it might be between, considering there's a lot of possibilities right now! ;)**


	4. Superstitious

**Hi all! Sorry for a late update. I warned you that life is a bit crazy so the new chapters might be posted with large gaps in between. Good news is that graduation is coming up in a little over a month and I am officially employed! Woohoo!  
**

 **If you are interested in listening to the piece of music that inspired this section, be sure to listen to J.S. Bach's "Jesu, meine Freude" _BWV 227._ It truly is magnificent and something I can definitely imagine Erik listening to. Let me know if you agree as well!**

* * *

 _May 1880, Paris_

The first orchestra rehearsal the following week was buzzing as members found their seats within the ensemble room. Today was the day that Reyer would reveal the new opera that he had selected with Debienne and Poligny and there was something that made Lisette feel it was to be a grand surprise.

Since the closing night of _La roi de Lahore_ , she'd had a few blissful days to catch up on sleep and prepare the preludes she was to play that month at church. She found that outside of the Conservatoire, she was one of only a few Parisians who was trained on the organ as well as piano and served as the organist at the Christuskirche. It was one of the only churches in Paris that wasn't Catholic and had a large German community which helped ease the homesickness she often felt. Despite her efforts to clear and prepare her mind for the upcoming rehearsals, however, she caught herself in the dim light of the church playing _Jesu, meine Freude_ , J.S. Bach's third motet. She couldn't quite shake the beautifully haunting voice that seemed to fill the opera house whenever it dared sing. She hoped with the new production she would be distracted from thinking about such silly things.

Armel sat down a few seats away, grinning from ear to ear as he proudly displayed his newly carved reeds to those around him. Lisette couldn't help but smile as well seeing how enthusiastic he was. It seemed everyone in the orchestra was ready for a change and she couldn't help but feel butterflies in her stomach as she saw Reyer walk in with a pile of scores in his arms.

"Gentlemen," he said, tapping on his music stand vigorously. "After much consideration with Monsieurs Debienne and Poligny, I am happy to announce that the Paris Opera Company's next production will be Charles Gounod's _Faust._ Please take a score."

Lisette's heart was elated. Gounod's _Faust..._ what a treat! She had grown so tired of Massenet's long drawn out passages in _La roi de Lahore_ and the pressure of being put on prima pianist for the final performance had almost been too much. She felt much more relieved when she was handed the prima pianist score and realized she had weeks to practice before the first performance.

She couldn't help but almost groan when Reyer handed her a reduced score as well to be used in the lead vocalists' rehearsals, but knew it was what she signed on to do by accepting her position. She was already dreading another confrontation with Carlotta after their rehearsal just a few days prior. She was not excited to have the opportunity to work closely with the prima donna once more and almost prayed that Carlotta would decide to leave the opera house before the cast and orchestra went up in a riot.

She flipped through the score, mentally taking notes of challenging passages she would have to practice on her own. The opera house simply didn't have the money to hire a harpist, so many of Lisette's parts were a combination of piano and harp. She hoped one day they would choose an opera that would make use of the organ, for they had one kept in the back of the orchestra stalls in the auditorium which hadn't been playing in years. She was tired of being used as a substitute harpist when she had no training that particular area.

Reyer led them through the overture, making comments of what to prepare for their next rehearsal within the week before dismissing them to practice. Many often left the Palais Garnier to travel to the Conservatoire, where practice rooms were abundant and more private. Lisette chose to return to the ensemble room where she could play on a grand piano and have peace of mind knowing the cast and ballet corps were in rehearsal and she couldn't be disturbed.

As she sat at the piano upstairs, she tried not to grin as she thought about how silly Carlotta would look dressed in the youthful costumes of the leading lady, Marguerite. Marguerite's arias were even more difficult than Sita's in _La roi de Lahore_ and she knew that Carlotta would struggle, only to make everything miserable for everyone else.

She practiced late into the afternoon, often pausing when she heard the sound of ballerinas walking quickly past her. She was used to their excited, giggly banter but could tell something was amiss as their voices were unusually low and serious, running about still in their pointe shoes and hair slicked back. She peered into the hallway, only to see a commotion of people gathering around the entrance to the stage, whispering excitedly. She saw Meg luring near Gabriel, the chorus-master, and grabbed her arm, pulling her near.

"What's happened?" Lisette asked.

"Monsieur Buquet thinks the opera ghost's been moving his set pieces around!" she cried, straining her neck to see through the crowd.

"Now why on earth would anyone do that?" Lisette replied, trying not to roll her eyes. The entire opera house was beginning to sound like an asylum with how nearly everything that went wrong was due to an imaginary ghost.

"You shouldn't be doubtful, Lisette," Meg warned in a timid voice. "Maman tells me that if you pretend to not believe in the opera ghost then he will come and scare you himself!"

"Then he would've appeared by now," she replied darkly, turning to make her way towards the stage entrance. She normally didn't get involved in the antics of the cast and crew, but it was disturbing her practice session and she wanted to resolve whatever the issue was as quickly as possible.

When she entered the stage, she found Joseph Buquet pacing back and forth, red faced and shaking with anger as he held a sword prop from the battle scene in _Lahore_.

"Monsieur Buquet!" Debienne cried, "It is not the opera ghost! Things have been very frantic since beginning our new production! I'm sure some of the stage hands simply got confused and–"

"This is not the doing of our stage hands!" Buquet roared, startling the surrounding crowd into silence. "These lads would have simply put it back stage, but it's disappeared altogether!"

"Have you checked the cellars?" Gabriel asked from the other side of the room.

"Check the cellars?" Buquet scoffed. "I'd pay money to see any of these superstitious fools go into the cellars, including yourself. No one's been down in the cellars in nearly five years."

"And why is that?" Debienne asked, the color draining from his face.

"Why don't you ask the ghost you're a patron for?" Buquet accused.

Lisette looked wide-eyed at Debienne, studying him closely. She always believed that the monthly salary of 20,000 francs to the opera ghost was a myth, but from the manager's suspicious behavior, she couldn't help but second guess herself. He colored darkly, his face almost purple, and tried muttering some excuses before fleeing from the room.

Madame Giry emerged from the crowd cluttered around the stage entrance.

"What set pieces are you looking for, Joseph?" she asked.

"We were going to use the columns from Act II of _Lahore_ , but they've disappeared and I don't have a damn clue where they went," he spat in response.

"Don't make such a fuss," Madame Giry replied coolly. "The columns are easy to make, we can even volunteer a few girls to help recreate them. Unless you are superstitious, like you accuse your fellow stage hands, I would go check the cellars if I were you before going through all that trouble."

She turned on her heel and left the stage, thus giving the rest of the onlookers the hint to disperse and leave Monsieur Buquet to wallow in his anger. She returned to the ensemble room with a strange feeling in, trying to shake the look of embarrassment and fear she'd seen on Debienne's face at Buquet's accusation. Her eyes quickly ran over the score sitting before her on the piano, but she sighed and pushed it away, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the thought of having to learn the entire score in just a few weeks. Instead, she began practicing her scales and a handful of etudes she'd learned at the Conservatoire which she barely had time to play anymore. She frowned at the stiffness in her left wrist and felt an ache growing in her lower back from sitting with bad posture.

She took her hair which ran in a braid down her back and wrapped it around itself into a bun, careful to make sure it was secure at base of her neck before playing again. As she finished her minor arpeggios, she couldn't help but jump at the sound of feet coming up the stairs.

 _Who on earth could that be?_ she thought in exasperation. This afternoon was the only chance she would have to practice with church rehearsal later that evening and it was impossible to get anything done with so many disturbances. She couldn't help but roll her eyes as the door to the ensemble room opened and in stepped Meg, still in her dancing clothes and hair tightly pinned back. Meg rarely came into the ensemble room except on the rare occasion that she was being sent by Reyer, but the young ballerina didn't seem to notice Lisette in the room, rather, she was looking over her shoulder as Lisette heard the sound of another pair of voices approaching the room as well.

"Monsieurs," Meg said in a sickly sweet voice, "This is the ensemble room where our orchestra rehearses. We have the finest musicians in France employed here and are more well known than even the symphony!"

Lisette watched with awe as two strikingly handsome gentlemen answered the room. One was very tall, with shoulder length blonde hair and very handsome features. His jaw was square, his shoulders broad, and she could even swear she saw his eyes sparkle as he looked around the room. He looked young, perhaps even younger than she, and there was a boyish look to him as he looked around and smirked. The other man was the count, eyeing the other gentleman with satisfaction as they both moved towards Reyer's podium, admiring the scene before them.

"What do you think, Raoul?" the count inquired. "I think it will do quite well and give us much amusement with our time here in Paris."

"I'm sure it's more impressive when there are actually musicians in here," the young man replied. "I've never heard finer music in my life than I did at the closing night of _Lahore_."

"Many of our instrumentalists come from the Conservatoire," Meg replied, obviously gleeful to be speaking to the young man in such familiar terms. "Most of our orchestra members have been here since I was born!"

Lisette suddenly became very nervous as she realized she still had not been noticed. The piano was located on the opposite side of the room from the door, and with the lid up as it was now, it was often difficult for her to see the orchestra during rehearsals. She realized, with despair, that she was mostly hidden from sight and panicked. She didn't want to create a disturbance or make them think she was eavesdropping, but she had been sitting for far too long without making any noise. It was then that she made the move to stand to try and sneak into the nearby music library where she could obtain a pen to write on her score while Meg and the gentlemen finished touring the room, but the piano bench made a loud screeching sound against the wooden floor as she stood and she couldn't help but wince.

"Lisette!"

She did her best to smile as she turned to face Meg, who was staring at her in delighted surprise. The count bowed upon recognizing her and she felt flattered for the attention and she stepped forward, keeping her head low as to not attract too much attention to the scar on her face.

"Monsieurs," she said meekly, "Do forgive me, I did not realize Mademoiselle Giry would be giving a tour today."

Meg smiled, proud to be showing such influential men around the opera house.

"It's not a problem," the count said, standing and straightening his neck tie. "We are hoping to become the patrons of the Palais Garnier and wanted a tour before we made our full commitment."

 _New patrons!_ she thought with a smile. It had been a long time since the opera house had received any new patrons with Carlotta being on the stage for so long. But the count _was_ from the country and probably didn't have much opportunity to see many operatic performances. She was thrilled the Palais Garnier wouldn't just be gaining new patrons, but young and motivated patrons at that!

"That's wonderful news to hear," Lisette replied. "The Paris Opera Company could use some new faces in our small group of patrons!"

"I beg your pardon," the count said, suddenly stepping to the side. "How rude I've been. Mademoiselle Geiger, this is my brother, Roul, Viscount of Chagny."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," the young man said, offering his hand. She took it and did her best to avoid direct eye contact. However, upon accidentally meeting his eyes, she saw his look of surprise upon examining her face. She instantly drew back her hand and pretended to fix a button on the sleeve of her dress. There seemed to be a mutual understanding with Meg and the count about the awkward interaction between the two and thankfully the conversation was diverted elsewhere. Meg took the viscount to the library to show him the vast collection of opera scores that had been organized over the last few months while Lisette stood with the count near the piano, trying to keep her face from flushing a darker shade of red, which only made her scar stand out more.

"Do you spend much time in this room, mademoiselle?" the count inquired, admiringly brushing his hands over the lid of the piano.

She faintly smiled. "More hours than I spend in my own home!"

"I have quite an admiration for musicians," the count said, sitting at the piano and admiring the ivory keys. "I truly don't believe a single profession is as dedicated as musicians are to their art."

She shrugged. "Making great music takes a lot of hard work."

"Hear hear," the count said, playing a chord on the piano.

"Do you play?" she asked, drawing near in fascination as she saw his hands begin to play a short melody by Lully.

"I practiced more as a boy," he said, frowning as he watched his left hand struggle to cooperate with the accompaniment. "I don't seem to have the time anymore which is such a pity for I truly am a great admirer of music. It's part of the reason why my brother and I are considering becoming patrons of the opera house. Chagny is quite pleasant, but there's no great music making to be found in the countryside."

"Have you come to a decision?" Lisette asked, almost impatiently. She was growing quite fond of the count and desired to have him around the opera house more often.

"We are very interested," he replied, sighing in relief as he finished tune on the piano. "It will all depend on if Monsieurs Debienne and Poligny will have us."

"They won't turn you away," Lisette remarked with assurance. "In fact, Monsieur Debienne would carry you through the streets of Paris on a golden throne if you agreed to become a patron!"

The count laughed and she felt her heart flutter at she saw his eyes light up and his stern expression melt away. Meg and the viscount emerged from the library, eyeing the pair suspiciously, before saying their goodbyes and leading the two men to see the grander rooms on the ground floor.

Lisette stood by the piano for a moment after they left the room, wondering in bewilderment what was wrong with her. Suddenly, the score on the piano didn't seem as intimidating. In fact, she was growing _determined_ not only to learn the music, but to be able to play every passage beautifully and with her best musicianship applied.

She sat down, letting her fingers wander over the keys. It wasn't long before she was imitating the melody the count had played just moments before, but as her thoughts wandered, so did her hands. The chorale of Bach's third motet came back just as strong as before, but this time with all four voices included. The music took on a strange affect as she repeated the A section, seeming to swirl around her and fill the room completely. It wasn't until she came to the last cadence did she feel her heard pounding wildly in her chest and her ears ringing like she'd just heard a full brass ensemble. She turned, feeling a chill run up her spine as she did so, and couldn't help but let out a gasp and she saw a single, red rose laying on Reyer's podium that she sworn hadn't been there just moments before.

* * *

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	5. La Alemana

**Hi all! Back with a longer chapter to make up for not updating in a couple weeks. Don't worry, the phantom will begin to play a more important role after this chapter, but we're only four chapters in and there's still so much to tell about Lisette before we begin introducing another main character!**

* * *

 _June 1880, Paris_

Lisette groaned when she woke and realized the beginning of the sweltering heat in Paris had begun. Sunlight was streaming through the windows and glass ceiling near the rear of her small apartment and she rolled over, using her pillow to cover her face. She dreaded the summer when she'd half to walk across the city covered in sweat only to spend the day in the unbearably hot ensemble room and orchestra stalls at the Palais Garnier.

She sat up, running her fingers through her hair which had turned into knots from the braid she'd put it in the previous night. Her muscles felt stiff from helping move chairs and stands into the orchestra stalls the previous day and she swallowed a lump thinking of the upcoming rehearsal.

 _Faust_ had been in rehearsal for nearly three weeks now and today was to be the first cast and orchestra rehearsal. Lisette had spent many miserable rehearsals working with the lead vocalists, listening to Carlotta's complaints about how no on in the orchestra could possibly follow her "divine talent" whenever she made a mistake. Reyer had been growing frustrated as well, but Debienne and Carlotta were just as devoted to her as ever, which made it difficult to critique the prima donna in case she decided to walk out of rehearsal, which put everything behind schedule. Lisette truly didn't know how much more she could take as she stepped out of bed and began to wash her face.

She looked in dismay at her reflection as she patted her face dry. The heat also made it more difficult to cover her scar as the powder she applied was often wiped away from sweat. As she brushed through her hair, she prayed the Palais Garnier wouldn't be as miserable as she remembered it to be last summer.

After eating a quick breakfast of strong coffee, eggs, and toast, she tamed her waist length blonde hair into a neat braid down her back. She had a small rugsack which she often carried her in music in and swept it over her shoulder before leaving her apartment.

She lived on Rochefoucauld Street, north of the opera house, and a ten minute walk. Upon graduating from the Conservatoire, she'd found a small, but comfortable, studio apartment on the top floor of her building. The landlady was kind and didn't interfere much and the back of her apartment contained large, glass windows and a small portion of the ceiling was glass as well, giving her a fantastic view of the cathedrals that stood out among the Parisian skyline like God Himself.

With the sun beating down upon her and feeling the weight of her scores in her rugsack, it didn't take much time before she was sweating through her dress. Although she applied more powder than normal today on her face, she made sure to keep her head low as she passed local markets and shops for fear that the sweat beading on her forehead was revealing her shameful appearance.

She entered the back of the opera house with a great sigh of relief, glad for once that there was no insulation from the ground floor to the damp and cold cellars below. Backstage was relatively cool, empty and abandoned with it still being early in the morning. Many of the stage hands wouldn't arrive until an hour or so before the performance and the ballet corps were busy practicing upstairs.

She quickly checked her reflection in a mirror as she hastened up to the ensemble room, dismayed at how red and angry her scar stood out among her pale complexion. She wondered if there would be any powder available for her to use in the dressing rooms. Perhaps Meg would let her borrow some…

Her thoughts were shaken by seeing Reyer and Gabriel huddled in the corner, talking in hushed whispers about something. She blushed when they turned to her, but Reyer motioned for her to come near.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Geiger," he said pleasantly, bowing slightly when she approached. "Are you looking forward to the first dress rehearsal today?"

She gave a weak smile and shrugged. "The first dress rehearsals are never perfect. I just hope it doesn't leave everyone frustrated with each other like it usually does!"

Gabriel laughed. She had always admired the chorus-master who always wore a jolly expression on his face. He was a tall, red-haired man who must have been in his late forties but looked as if he could still be twenty years old. She was always thoroughly impressed with the unified and pleasing sound of the chorus during productions. He was also easily targeted by Carlotta when something was amiss on stage and she sympathized for him greatly.

"Gabriel," Reyer said, "I don't believe you've had the pleasure of meeting our prima pianist, Lisette Geiger."

"Mademoiselle," Gabriel replied. "Geiger, eh? So you're not a violinist?"

Lisette blushed. It had always been a running joke in her time at Germany that she was a pianist and not a fiddler as her last name stated.

"I never did quite have the ear for the violin," she said softly. "That's why I play the piano. Everyone tunes to me!"

Gabriel burst into laughter again, but Lisette could tell from Reyer's expression that they had been talking about something quite serious before she entered the room.

"Mademoiselle," Reyer said, "How would you say the rehearsals have been going with Carlotta?"

Lisette bit her lip. She knew what her honest answer was, yet she also knew that to give her honest opinion meant that word would spread. She wasn't sure if she could trust Reyer and Gabriel to remain silent if she spoke against the beloved prima donna.

"The music is very difficult," she answered truthfully. "I know I've been having trouble mastering the difficult score and it seems the lead vocalists feel the same way."

Reyer scoffed, yet smiled. "You are too polite, Mademoiselle Geiger. The whole opera will be a disaster with Carlotta playing the role of Marguerite!"

Lisette almost laughed out loud but stopped herself quickly upon seeing Gabriel's grave expression. There seemed to be a mutual agreement between the two gentlemen and she was relieved to know that it wasn't just the orchestra that was growing frustrated with Carlotta's musicianship. The last few rehearsals with Carlotta had led to Reyer becoming red-faced and angry, two traits most unlike him. Lisette herself could feel the anger bubbling in her stomach from the constant criticism from Carlotta. She wasn't sure if she had been spoiled by working with excellent musicians for so many years or if Carlotta was the most pompous professional musician she'd ever collaborated with.

Gabriel sighed heavily, sinking into a nearby ensemble chair. "If this afternoon's rehearsal is a disaster because of that woman, I swear I'm throwing in my hat!"

Reyer patted him on the shoulder. "Don't fret, Gabriel. Debienne and Poligny will tire her as her popularity diminishes. Audiences already seem to be tiring of her strained timbre!"

Lisette spent the rest of the morning gleeful and liberated in a sense she couldn't quite describe. Hearing the frustrations of the two leading musicians in the opera house seemed to verify her own feelings and she felt elated knowing there may be a chance that Carlotta might be gone for good!

Her morning practice session was spent mastering any last-minute sections of the opera she hadn't had a chance to look at in detail. The more time she spent with _Faust_ , the more she was becoming to adore it. She was also hoping that sometime today before going down into the orchestra stalls she might have a glimpse of the sets and costumes.

It was a dark opera, beginning with an old scholar named Faust being tempted by Méphistophélès, a demon, to sell his soul to the devil in exchange for youth. Upon being transformed into a young man, the scholar appears at the city gates in time for festivities. A young man named Valentin is about to leave for war but leaves the wellbeing of his sister, Marguerite, in the hands of Lisette's favorite character, Siébel, who is secretly in love with Marguerite. The rest of the opera was sent in the familiar scandalous tone, with Marguerite becoming abandoned after becoming pregnant with Faust's child. Lisette had performed many operas by German composers when she lived in Dresden and she found the ending of _Faust_ eerily similar to Mozart's _Don Giovanni_ with Faust being dragged into hell begging for forgiveness of his sins.

She smirked as she flicked through pages of Siébel's aria, "Faites-lui mes aveux," from Act III. The part was a breeches role, being performed by a mezzo or soprano, but she preferred the arias of this character to any other she'd heard before. Siébel was the true hero of _Faust_ and she admired him for abandoning Marguerite when she fell into her foolish ways and ignored his love. She could already see the ignorant audience sympathizing with Carlotta's performance but she prayed she might find a companion who admired Siébel as much as she did.

The first dress rehearsal began smoothly, the first act consisting of mostly Piangi as Faust and Laselle as Méphistophélès. It wasn't until the second act did they begin running into trouble. Carlotta opened the act with her aria, "Demoiselle ni belle," and came in three measures early. Reyer had to restart the aria four times before she got it right and they were able to make their way through the rest of the act despite Carlotta's shrill singing and blunders. It wasn't until a duet between Faust and Marguerite in the third act did things begin to fall apart. Carlotta simply didn't have her words memorized and kept moving the opposite directions she was supposed to, constantly bumping into Piangi. Reyer finally put down his baton in frustration and crossed his arms. Gabriel came running onto the stage from behind one of the set pieces, waving his arms.

"Señora!" he exclaimed, "You move to stage _left_!"

"Stage left, the real left," Carlotta scoffed, smacking his hands away, "It makes no difference! You all confused me with your nonsense directions!"

Lisette could see chorus members rolling their eyes backstage and she tried to avery from doing the same herself.

"Let's try it again," Reyer said, picking up his baton. "Señora, if it would aid you, please use a score if you can't remember your words."

"I know my words!" spat the prima donna. "It is you, sir, who do not know your score."

Lisette could see the maestro flush a deep shade of red, but he ignored her comment and began the orchestra at the top of the aria. But yet again, Carlotta's entrance was fumbled and her voice quavered as she climbed to the top of her range. As Piangi entered, she stopped, throwing her hands up into the air.

"I cannot perform in these conditions," she cried, stamping her foot. "I cannot help it if _your_ orchestra, maestro, doesn't know how to listen to those on stage."

"Or maybe you don't know how to listen for the orchestra," Lisette muttered under her breath. However, as she said this, her eyes caught Carlotta's, which flashed dangerously.

"You there!" Carlotta exclaimed, pointing to Lisette as she came to the edge of the stage. "You need to learn how to keep in tempo! The maestro should have kicked you out of this opera house months ago for not being able to follow my singing."

Lisette felt anger bubbling up her stomach, but she swallowed and tried to form clear thoughts as they ran wildly through her head. She looked briefly at Reyer and Armel, who were both watching her with wide eyes before she spoke.

"I believe, señora, that it is _you_ who is the most difficult to follow in this ensemble."

She heard chuckling erupt around her in the orchestra stalls and even saw Gabriel cover his mouth to hide a smile backstage. The chorus members and ballet corps seemed to be smiling in approval of what Lisette had just said, but it hushed silently as Carlotta let out a shriek.

"How dare you!" the prima donna cried, kicked a pile of saw dust into the orchestra stalls just above Lisette's head. The members around her cried out in protest as everyone tried to blink away the small particles. Lisette stood and climbed onto the stage, her blood boiling. She couldn't remember once in her life confronting someone for behavior she disagreed with, but Carlotta was so far out of line that she was determined to set her straight if the managers were unwilling.

"The more you treat the members of this ensemble with disrespect, the more you will see the same returned to you," Lisette snarled. "It is not our fault if you don't know your music!"

The orchestra broke out into applause. She could see Reyer had his arms crossed, but there was something twinkling in his eyes.

"Mademoiselles," Reyer said, tapping his baton impatiently on his score. "Please, let's begin from the top once more. Señora, why don't you read from your score this time so we may continue on with the dress rehearsal."

"I will not be singing with this rat playing below me!" Carlotta declared, pointing a threatening finger under Lisette's nose. "It's a good thing you do keep this little _alemana_ under the stage so we don't scare audience members away with her frightening face!"

Lisette felt the blood drain from her face as she realized with horror that her encounter with Carlotta had occurred after all of her powder had been sweated off from that morning's walk and she hadn't had time to apply more. She shrunk into herself as she felt people focus in on the red line across her face and tried to walk in a straight line as she backed up, tears clouding her vision.

"No powder can hide that ugly deformity," Carlotta spat. "You're lucky to be here! Don't you ever speak to me that way again!"

Lisette admitted defeat to herself and kept her head low as she took her place at the piano once more, careful to avoid Armel's eyes that were watching her intently. It was almost deathly quiet as Piangi and Carlotta reset to the beginning of the third act and Reyer seemed to ignore Lisette quietly patting her eyes dry with the back of her sleeve.

Just before Carlotta's first entrance, people heard a large shriek from above.

"Señora!" Reyer cried in horror.

Many of the orchestra stood and peered over the edge of the stage to get a glimpse of what was going on. Just before resetting to the beginning, Carlotta had tried on the blonde wig she would have to wear for her role as Marguerite. As Lisette carefully looked to see why the prima donna was dancing about the stage, she saw the wig lying on the ground, with black specks moving throughout the strands of hair.

Carlotta smacked her assistant who was standing nearby.

"Spiders?!" Carlotta cried with horror. "And now they're in _my_ hair! Señor Bouquet, if you cannot keep your stage clean then you might as well quit! I refuse to continue with the rehearsal until the entire set, props, and costumes have been thoroughly clean!" With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared out of one of the doors backstage, probably to retire to her dressing room.

The orchestra began snickering, but stopped immediately when Reyer glanced agrily at them.

"I pray none of you did this," Reyer muttered before stepping down, looking in exasperation to Gabriel.

"We will resume rehearsal in one hour," Gabriel said with a strained voice. "Until then, Monsieur Bouquet, please check for spiders. I'd hate to think of anyone else coming across something so dreadful."

The orchestra parted, many heading to lunch or upstairs to practice for the extra hour. Armel came to her side as she was sorting her music and touched her arm lightly.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly. "It was wrong of her to talk that way towards you."

Lisette shrugged, trying to ignore the heat in her face as she tried to forget what happened earlier. "I'm fine, just taken aback. Hopefully when she returns she'll have that scene memorized so we can move forward."

Armel glanced at the wig which was still laying, abandoned, in the middle of the stage. It was evident that it wasn't just a handful of spiders, but dozens that were crawling in or around it.

"I can't say if the spiders were luck or someone is more fed up with her than we are," Armel said, trying to fight back a laugh. "Maybe the opera ghost is on our side after all!"

Lisette felt a shiver go up her spine. She tried to ignore the truth she heard in Armel's statement and glanced warily around the dark stalls around them.

"I'll be in the ensemble room," she said, tucking her music under her arm and turning away. "I'll see you in an hour."

Her quick departure seemed to hurt Armel, but she couldn't help but rush away. She needed a moment to herself to recover from the embarrassment and hurt she'd received earlier. Angry tears threatened to spill over her cheeks and she dove into a nearby washroom, leaning onto the mirror and biting her lip so hard she drew blood. Her blue, bloodshot eyes stared back at her in the reflection like something from an insane asylum and her scar stood out like ink on white paper with how drained her complexion was. She took out powder from her pocket and did the best she could to cover it up, but it would always still be there so matter how hard she tried to pretend and give the illusion otherwise.

She could feel Armel's eyes on her when they returned from their hour break and the orchestra settled themselves back in the stalls. She continued to ignore her gaze and those from the rest of the orchestra as they began the third act once more, this time with little interruption as Carlotta was using her score.

However, as they transitioned into act four, she couldn't help but notice a strange pattern of behaviors. First, the doll which was to be used as the baby of Marguerite went missing, then the sword Piangi is supposed to use disappeared, then the backdrop for the church was replaced with a different backdrop from _Lahore._ They weren't much, just simple things which Carlotta couldn't blame anyone for and that seemed to make Bouquet's face color purple, but occurrences like these hadn't been seen in weeks after the closing night of _Lahore_. Little Jammes, a thin ballerina with streaky black hair and large, dark eyes, kept exclaiming that the opera ghost was seeking revenge, but her comments were waved away by Mercier, the scenery manager.

When the rehearsal ended, it was nearly eight o'clock in the evening, and the orchestra didn't hide their frustration as they packed up their instruments and left for the night. Lisette was especially displeased, for she still needed to go to the Christuskirche near her apartment to practice the prelude for this Sunday. As she sat at the piano bench, fixing her braid, Armel stood by her with his case slung over his shoulder and sweat evident on his brow.

"What a rehearsal," he groaned. "And to think we have to do the same thing all over again tomorrow!"

She threw her braid over her shoulder, standing as she tucked her music into the piano bench. Her rugsack was quickly packed and their pair of them headed out the side door of the Palais Garnier, heading north.

"Isn't your apartment near the Conservatoire?" she asked, confused why he was headed the same direction as she.

Armel colored at her comment. "Yes, but we haven't talked in so long."

"I'm heading to church to practice," she said coolly, wanting some peace and quiet after being surrounded by so many people all day.

"Lisette," he said, taking her arm. She whipped around, unsure and taken aback by his strange behavior. Armel was normally shy and well-humored, but this entire afternoon he had been acting strange. She studied his eyes, trying to understand what was bothering him.

"Are you alright?" he inquired. "Don't insult me by saying you're fine. I could tell all evening that what happened with Carlotta upset you. Don't listen to a word she says! You have more music in your fingernail than she does in her entire body!"

Lisette wished she could smile at his compliment, but his condolences were only making things worse.

"Worry about yourself, Armel," she said gently. "I don't wish to talk about it."

She could tell he wasn't satisfied with this answer, for he continued to hold onto her arm.

"Is there anything else?" she asked, pulling her arm from his grip.

"Did you know a man at the Conservatoire called Claude Debussy?" Armel asked.

The name brought back a flood of memories for Lisette. She remembered the man, or the boy he was when she was enrolled there. He had been one of the few teenage students accepted into the Conservatoire beside herself and took from her same teacher, Antoine Marmontel. She remembered his excellent technique, even though he was seven years younger than herself, and the advanced repertoire he studied and practiced. However, he was a trouble maker, for in their composition courses, he often got into trouble with Monsieur Guiraud for never writing in counterpoint and creating chord progressions which didn't adhere to the musical rules of composition.

 _"But why should I write in old-fashioned and 'correct' terms when my music sounds so much more beautiful!"_ she remembered him declaring in class, causing him to fail the assignment.

"I do," she replied.

"He is giving a recital at the Conservatoire next Friday," Armel said, his eyes gleaming. "A few pieces by Buxtehude, Liszt, and Beethoven, but he will also be performing pieces of his own which I heard are unlike anything anyone's ever heard before!"

She remained silent, pursing her lips and studying his excited expression. She very well knew what he intended by bringing up this topic, but refused to be the one to suggest it first.

"Would you like to go?" he said, almost out of frustration.

She hid a smile, watching as he gazed at her intently. She wondered what he might think if she accepted the offer of accompanying him there. They were already close friends and well acquainted enough. Many even teased her if they were sweethearts. While a nice young man, she didn't find much in him which made him an object of admiration. His stature was stout and plump and his mustache only made him appear younger than he truly was. Although a decent player, he didn't have the musicianship to play anywhere outside of the Palais Garnier and only had received the position of primo bassoonist through connections within the opera house.

The words of Carlotta came rushing back once more. She couldn't say she was an object of admiration herself. Before receiving her scar, she'd considered herself pretty, with pale blue eyes, long blonde hair, and a heart shaped face with a sharp jaw line. But now that she had her scar, it was the main focus of her features and kept men at a distance. She'd even been abandoned by a sweetheart at the Conservatoire because of it. Armel was kind-hearted despite being plain and a hard worker. She knew better than to be picky about her admirers with her current appearance.

"That sounds lovely," she said through her teeth.

A smile lit up his face, making his cheeks even more round and his eyes sparkle with delight.

"Fantastic!" he exclaimed. "We can get a carriage and go after Friday's afternoon rehearsal. Perhaps we could grab a bite after?"

"We'll see," she said, turning and shifting her rugsack on her back.

She scurried away, feeling his eyes on her back until she rounded a corner, pausing to catch her breath. She desperately wanted to feel the excitement he felt, but only felt mere contentment at the thought of having plans.

She felt herself bring a hand to her face as she continued down the streets of Paris, humming Bach's third motet and still seeing the wig filled with spiders laying on the stage of the Palais Garnier.

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 **Don't forget to rate and review!**


	6. New Hope

**Back with another chapter! Sorry for such a long delay between this chapter and the last one. We are finally moving towards meeting some new characters. Most of my readers know I tend to build my characters up with descriptions and background information before delving into action scenes, but please let me know if you feel the story is moving too slowly!**

 **Good life update: I got a job in March and am graduating from college in just THREE DAYS! I'm hoping with graduation and a few weeks before I need to begin lesson planning for next school year I can punch a few more chapters out. I promise that this fanfiction is always stirring in the back of my mind, no matter how busy I am!**

* * *

 _June, Paris 1880_

Lisette sat at her vanity fidgeting with her hair for well over half an hour before giving up and determining she'd just have to deal with her current appearance. She'd tried to find the most elegant dress she had in her wardrobe that wasn't a simple gray or black color and had settled upon one of dark green. Now that she was dressed in the stiff material, however, she still felt rather plain and boring compared to the women she saw walking outside of her apartment complex. The French style was so lavish and unnecessary, or so s!he thought, and she often felt out of place walking among the rich. Her German clothes would always make her feel strange and outcast no matter how hard she tried to hold onto her homeland.

She settled into her traditional milkmaid braids on top of her head. Her hair was so long and straight that she never put any thought into curling it for she knew it would be to no avail and trying to wrangle it into a bun on the back of her head was nearly out of the question. The braids were the easiest, for they kept her hair out of her face while still looking elegant.

She sighed as she finished putting powder on her face and headed out the door, grunting at the long walk to the Conservatoire. Upon obtaining her position at the Palais Garnier, she'd moved from the dormitories to her apartment, but she had forgotten how long of a walk it was now to reach the place that had been her home for nearly five years. Thankfully, this particular summer evening was much cooler than the day had been, and she took in the sights of the city as she roamed among the cheerful streets, seeing the city beginning to come to life now that the weekend had approached.

After nearly half an hour of walking, she finally reached the large building, with its majestic appearance among the surrounding apartments and cafes. She wondered about how different life had been three years ago when she had still lived and studied here. Sometimes she missed still being a student, spending her days practicing for her own improvement, taking courses such as history, theory, and composition. But then again, there was something so satisfying about being the only woman in the Paris Opera Company's orchestra. If only Carlotta would leave, then she would be truly happy!

She saw Armel standing in front of the entrance to the recital hall, dressed in a sharp, brown suit. He smiled the moment they caught each others' eyes and she nonchalantly ran a hand through her hair, checking to make sure everything was in place after all of the walking she did. She never liked being stared at, especially so closely as Armel was doing now.

"Good evening," he said when she was close enough.

"Good evening," she replied softly, glancing at his slicked back hair. "You look rather dashing, Armel."

He beamed at the compliment. "It's nice to not have to wear a tuxedo for once!"

She laughed and agreed. Together, they went into the recital hall, sitting unusually close to one another as the room filled with people. She was surprised to see so many people in attendance for a recital of such a young musician. However, she did remember how extremely talented the young man was. She was excited to see how far he'd come in her three years of absence.

The crowd erupted into applause when the pianist appeared on stage. He was a rather unusual looking gentleman, with a stout body, short stature, dark curly hair, and a beard that was trying to look full grown but still looked as one of a teenager. He bowed awkwardly before seating himself at the piano, stretching his fingers and his neck as he did so. She watched the familiar expression on his face that she often wore herself as he examined the instrument before him, lightly running his fingers over the black and white keys before settling into position. There was a brief silence in the room and with a sudden motion and turn of the head, he struck his first chord.

The piece was beautiful, unlike anything she'd heard before. She'd spent most of her life mastering the works of J.S. Bach and Buxtehude, whose works were focused on counterpoint and overlapping voices. But his music was strange, almost exotic, yet she could hear the influences of the French and the Conservatoire embedded within the chords. She almost laughed to herself as she heard parallel fifths and octaves within the young man's composition and wondered if her old composition professor was sitting somewhere in this room, scowling at the very idea of Debussy's music.

The rest of the recital was interesting, yet pleasant. He played a selection of works from great French composers, even including a fugue by Bach towards the end. Lisette couldn't help but feel overwhelmed as he stood for the piano for a final bow. She clapped furiously, exhilarated not only by the impressive playing she'd just heard, but the excitement of the music that was yet to reach the French public due to this young man. She had a sense that his music would not go unnoticed and longed for a fresh face in Parisian music.

Armel and she strolled into the streets, heading back towards the direction of the opera house. They were silent, admiring the warm, summer evening and the chatter of English and American tourists as they bustled about around them. They shuffled into a restaurant a block away from Lisette's apartment and they sat near the back, away from the main window. Even though he was subtle about it, Lisette appreciated the fact that Armel had gone to such an effort to have them seated where she wouldn't feel like she would be stared at by everyone. They ordered drinks and were left alone, staring awkwardly at each other across the table. Armel moved first, reaching across the table to move his silverware, causing her to jump at the sudden movement.

"Can you believe the first performance is less than two weeks away?" Armel asked, referring to _Faust_. Lisette simply smiled and shrugged, resting her hands on the table.

"Don't be so sure," she said. "With the way the rehearsals have been going with Carlotta, we may have to postpone opening night."

Armel scowled. "That woman needs to realize she's past her prime. But don't fret too much, I've heard rumors we're going to receive another soprano from our very own Conservatoire!"

"Another soprano?" Lisette remarked, her eyes growing wide, "Who? Do we know her?"

He shook his head. "No, apparently she's Swedish and just came to the Conservatoire a year ago. Have you ever heard of the famous violinist, Monsieur Daae?"

"Daae?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That does sound familiar."

"He's quite well known in London," Armel said, smiling at the waiter who placed their foot in front of them. Lisette tried to ignore her rumbling stomach as a large bowl of soup was placed before her, steaming hot and served with bread.

"He has a daughter," Armel continued, diving into his food. "Apparently she's only a few years younger than us, I believe nineteen or twenty. She has reached her prime and is coming as a chorus member to the Palais Garnier. I overheard Gabriel commenting that he'd like to see her take Carlotta's place if her talent proves worth enough."

"Any talent is superior to the current prima donna's," Lisette commented with ice in her voice, hungrily eating her meal. "What's her name?"

"Christine," Armel said. "Christine Daae."

"Well," Lisette said, breaking off a piece of bread, "I look forward to her appearance at the opera house in hopes that she might save us all!"

Armel laughed and they finished their meal in a joyful manner, elated at knowing they had a weekend to themselves with no rehearsals and no performances. The hot day had turned into a cool evening, one of those that are remembered years from now with their warm breezes and the moon shining down so brightly that there was no need for streetlamps to be lit. They left the restaurant arm in arm, walking in silence but not in discomfort with one another. Lisette felt more at ease with Armel after their conversation about Christine Daae, excited to know there was an opportunity for the Palais Garnier to start opening up their stage to a new generation of performers. She could feel the potential of musicianship between Reyer's orchestra and Gabriel's chorus, but it was Carlotta and her stubbornness that was holding everyone back.

When they were making their way back to center Paris, Lisette groaned, causing Armel to jump beside her.

"What's wrong?" he inquired, concern flashing across his dark eyes.

"I just realized I left my hymnal in the ensemble room," she muttered, referring to the opera house. She had two different preludes she needed to learn for this Sunday's services and had intended to practice them after Thursday's rehearsal, but the rehearsal had run behind schedule and she left immediately after the closing curtain, eager to catch up on sleep. She had forgotten her hymnal on the piano upstairs and she knew the opera house would be locked all day tomorrow due to cleaning to prepare for opening night which was quickly approaching.

"Do we need to stop there?" he inquired. "I don't like the idea of you walking by yourself at this time at night."

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "Who would want to bother someone like me?"

He scowled and opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it.

"At least let me escort you to the opera house," he pleaded, taking her arm.

She sighed. "Very well."

When they reached the grand building, she bid him goodnight before entering through the side door, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn't sure if it was from the exciting evening she'd had, filled with beautiful music and the prospect of having a new prima donna, or if it was the fact that it was past ten o'clock in the evening and she was wondering around in the opera house, seemingly alone.

She knew the ballerina's dormitories were upstairs in the Palais Garnier, but it gave her no comfort as she tiptoed backstage, carefully looking over her shoulder as she was surrounded by a variety of props and set pieces. She had heard stories of stagehands roaming about at night, waiting to see is any female cast members might come done for a smoke or a late night drink. She felt a shiver go up her spine as she quickly looked over her shoulder before daring into the adjacent hallway where the dressing rooms lay.

Despite the late hour, she was surprised to see maids still at work cleaning. She nodded politely, avoiding their gaze as she scurried past to the stairs, trying not blush as she thought of her appearance and how odd it was not to be dressed in black while in this building.

Her heart continued to race as she pushed the door to the ensemble room open, as if she was expecting to find someone there, but there was no one. The room was empty and silent, except for the sound of a breeze coming through an open window and rustling a curtain. The piano was covered but she quickly spotted her old, worn hymnal lying on the bench. She could feel the pins in her hair poking her scalp and she took them out with a swift motion, letting her braid fall down her back. Just as she was about to turn to leave, she looked at her hymnal and smiled, her heart pounding as she did so, and she quickly took the cover off of the piano, lifted the lid, and began to play.

The last few days she had found the score to Bach's third motet, practicing carefully to try and imitate the musicality of the humming she'd heard through her fingertips. The chords rolled through her fingers and she closed her eyes, feeling as if she was back in the Thomaskirche in Leipzig. She couldn't help but let a smile break across her face, feeling nostalgic as she remembered the old organ she used to play as a child. She wishes she could find a grand organ like the ones she'd played in Germany here in Paris.

Suddenly, the voice revealed itself. She heard the faint humming, the gentleness of its phrasing, humming the tenor line with ease, seemingly filling up the entire room. However, as she continued to play and tried to control the pounding in her heart, something extraordinary happened.

After she finished the first verse and went to repeat the motet the chorale the second time through, the voice turned from humming into singing. But singing wasn't the proper term to describe the incredible music that was being produced by this voice. She'd never heard a voice so close to celestial. It was so pure, barely any vibrato like she was used to hearing with the male opera singers here at the Palais Garnier. However, the lack of vibrato did not hinder the tone or timbre, but rather increased it, and she could hear no strain in the sound. She was also amazed to hear the clarity in the German text, as if it was this voice's first language. She had no doubt in her mind that this voice belonged to a man, a tenor from what she could tell by the range, if not from an angel of God. She couldn't help but feel tears prick in her eyes as she drank in the sound and it was difficult to keep her fingers moving along the keys.

She did her best to join by singing the alto line, but her voice didn't do justice being in a duet with this divine man, so she quickly stopped and let her fingers do the singing. By the time they reached the final chord, she felt a tear slide down her cheek and she wiped it away, not wanting to draw attention to her face in case there truly was someone in the room. But as she looked around, it was just as empty as it had been before.

"Who are you?" she called out, standing abruptly. "Please, just tell me who you are!"

She couldn't help but let the desperation in her voice show. This person's musicality was so genius that she needed to know who it was before it drove her crazy, but the room remained eerily silent. Walking to the nearby window, she quickly pulled back the curtains, but only shadows met her sight. She continued to search the room until she was thoroughly convinced that no one was there. It was this realization that made a chill go up her spine, looking upwards. She was either being haunted by an angel or a demon, unable to tell which, but she knew she was going to become a madwoman if this continued any further.

Just as she was about to leave the room with her hymnal, she spotted something on Reyer's music stand, barely visible in the dim moonlight from outside. It was a small scroll, tied shut with a black ribbon with a red rose peeking through the middle. She drew her eyebrows together in confusion, wondering what this strange item was. She picked it up to examine it, determined to leave it in Reyer's office before she left, but she was shocked to see that _Fräulein Geiger_ was written on the side in beautiful calligraphy. She wondered why Reyer had left this scroll for her, and why there was a rose attached, but she quickly untied the ribbon, revealing a single sheet of music as she felt the thick parchment crinkle in her hand.

It was a simple, reduced score that was completely handwritten. Despite this, however, it was so clear to read it might as well have been printed. She was intrigued by the key signature, g sharp minor, and scanned the page with her eyes while her vacant left hand subconsciously mirrored the fingerings in the bass clef. As if in a trance, she sat at the piano, listening to the chords ring under her fingertips as she played through the page, listening in awe to the music that was produced from the instrument. This score seemed to evoke something inside of her she never even knew existed. The music was dark, but not distraught or hopeless. It seemed to evoke empathy and tranquility, yet keeping the listener on edge at all times. There were no words written in the score, but she wondered if this was a selection from an opera Reyer was deliberating over for the Palais Garnier's next production. She tried to draw the trace of the music. It wasn't Beethoven, for as much as she admired him he could never reach this level of emotion. The piece was too modern for it to be written in the Baroque era and she tried to think of some of the most Romantic composers she'd played while in Dresden, but the music didn't seem to fit Schubert or Schumann's style. There was no composer written at the top and she scowled as she reached the end of the first page, being mercilessly teased by not reaching a cadence and knowing that there was another section yet to continue on the following page if she had it.

She stood once more, clutching the parchment in her hands, her palms growing sweaty as she grew frustrated to try and identify the composer. As she paced the length of the room, she suddenly felt the blood drain from her face as she glanced at the bottom of the page.

There were two letters: O.G. As much as she tried to convince herself this was still a silly prank being played on her by a stage hand, she knew none of them had the power to write music as powerful as this, and there was no way they had access to the music library here in the opera house or at the Conservatoire. She also couldn't help but hear the singing from earlier ringing in her ears, filling her entire being with wonder and amazement. Her hands began to shake and she dropped the sheet of music, backing away with her mouth gaping open.

 _Opera Ghost_ , she thought, shaking her head.

She quickly scooped up the piece of music, clutching it closely to her as she grabbed her hymnal, not wanting to lose the majestic piece of music no matter how haunting or mysterious the composer was. Just as she was about to leave the room, she heard it. It was so faint that she wasn't sure if it was truly there, but the Bach motet was ringing throughout the hallway in that same, familiar timbre which she adored yet feared with her whole being.

She fled from the Palais Garnier that night looking over her shoulder and not once letting the piece of music out of her sight.

* * *

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	7. Passion

_June, Paris 1880_

Lisette woke up the next morning in a daze, trying to remember all that had happened the previous evening as she saw light streaming through her window. She stretched dreamily, smiling as she thought of the evening she'd had with Armel and the exquisite music she'd heard at Debussy's recital. Armel was sweet, even if he was a bit awkward, and she knew he fancied her. She sat up, running a hand through her messy braid, frowning as she thought of the knots she'd have to comb out.

She suddenly leapt out of bed, feeling her shoulders shaking as she caught sight of the sheet of music lying on her table. The mystery of the composer continued to boggle her as she dressed and ate breakfast, barely able to let anything else run through her mind. She didn't want to believe that the opera ghost was responsible for this masterpiece, but who else could it be? Surely it was not a creation of Reyer's, for his compositions were mediocre which he openly admitted, and she couldn't think of another person in the orchestra who would specifically address a piece of music to her. She frowned as she scooped up the last of her potatoes and popped them into her mouth, thinking of Armel. She debated if she should share it with him, but she decided against it, knowing that a composition was sacred and meant to be kept to oneself until ready for publication.

She spent her morning at her church, practicing preludes for the services the following day. However, as she felt her feet pressing the pedals on the floor, she couldn't help but feel the power in the instrument and think of how the mysterious piece would sound on the organ rather than the piano. She took it out, cracking her knuckles, and began to play.

The music completely filled the sanctuary, with its stone walls and high ceiling. By the time she reached the end of the first page, she couldn't help but bow her head and begin to weep, overwhelmed by the immense sovereignty of the piece. It seemed as if this was meant to be played on the organ, and as she wiped tears from her face, she decided to make a single edit to the score, her hand shaking as she went into the parlor to find a pen. She simply scratched out "pianoforte" with a single line and neatly wrote "organ" in its place.

She made up her mind to return to the opera house and go to the organ in the orchestra stalls. She knew it wasn't the most private location, but there shouldn't be anyone in the opera house and she was dying to hear how it would sound in the main auditorium where there wouldn't be as much reverberation.

When she reached the back doors of the Palais Garnier, sweating from her walk from the church, she was relieved to find them locked, knowing for certain that even the ballerinas would be out for the day, training at the Academy where they had a larger rehearsal space. She quickly unlocked the door, a privilege she had been granted by becoming the prima pianist, and ducked inside, feeling a sense of dread as she found backstage to be immersed in darkness, something that had always unsettled her.

Seeing a nearby lamp, she lighted a few of the candles on stage before lighting the small wall candles beneath the stalls. It was despairingly hot and she was determined to try and keep it dark in the auditorium to prevent it from getting any warmer.

Again, she put the single sheet of music on the organ, this time prepared for the piece she was about to play. With every ounce of strength she had in her body, she threw herself into the first chord, feeling the room immediately seem to light with fire from the magnitude and strength of the instrument. She let out a laugh, almost as if insane, and played through the page, angry when she reached the last measure because it was unfinished and she was craving to know what was on the next page. She tried to play through a similar chord progression herself, but quickly grew frustrated how it couldn't match the magnificence of the sheet of music.

She threw her hands on the organ, creating a cluster of chords before letting off of them and groaning. She had to find out who this composer was and if there was more to the piece. She decided she would ask Reyer in secrecy tomorrow.

Just as she was about to stand to collect her thoughts, something from the corner of her eye made her heart stop, sending her music tumbling out of her arms and onto the floor.

Looking out into the audience, she saw something stand out in one of the boxes on the ground level to the right of the stage. There was something white standing out amongst the dark curtains and normally she would've ignored it, however, there was something strange in its shape. It was oddly curved and there was a gaping hole in the middle, as if where an eye might be. But this strange shake only seemed to imitate half a face and fear clenched her heart as she was sure a stagehand was playing a prank on her.

"What do you want?" she cried, backing into the shadows of the stalls. She often heard stories of stagehands preying on the ballerinas at night when the opera house was abandoned. She never thought she would fall into their hands with her deformed face, but she began to think she had guessed wrong.

The shape moved in the box and she saw a gloved hand appear, pulling part of the curtain back just slightly. She still couldn't make out the other half of the face, but she was determined to find out who had been playing games with her these last couple of months.

"If you don't tell me who you are I will call the police this instant!" she said meekly, trying to act brave. "No one except for employees are allowed in the opera house during these hours!"

The voice laughed, but she was instantly mesmerized. It was like a tinkling bell, yet warm and mellow, and she heard the rich timbre of the voice she had heard last night. She instinctively took a step forward, blushing as she realized the involuntary movement, and tried to maintain a stern composure as she let the light from the candles wash over her face.

She immediately saw a reaction from the figure just a few meters away. The hand disappeared and the white shape drew further back into the shadows. Despite being afraid, she couldn't help but feel a lump form in her throat from their reaction to her face.

"You have nothing to fear, fräuline."

She gasped, taking another step forward. The voice was so pure, so deep, and filled with such color. This person might as well have been singing instead of speaking from how beautiful the timbre was. The need to find out who this person was suddenly changed from fear to intense curiosity and she craned her neck, trying to see the face.

"Who are you?" she asked quietly.

"I'm the opera ghost," the figure answered, chuckling. "I thought I had made that point quite clear by now."

"I don't believe in ghosts," she said, feeling her confidence return. "If you were a ghost, you wouldn't be sitting here in the flesh."

The voice chuckled, amused at her answer. "I may be what I please. Besides, if no one's ever truly seen the opera ghost, they can't know what he looks like, can they?"

She had no answer. She continued to stare into the darkness of the box, trying to understand this strange interaction she was having.

"Play it again," the voice demanded, a glove barely visible pointing to the organ beneath the stage.

"And play what exactly?" she inquired.

"My piece," it responded.

The color drained from her face. " _Your_ piece?"

"Yes," it responded coolly. "Now play."

She obeyed, going to the organ with shaking hands and placing the music back on the instrument. She cracked her fingers, finding the pedals underneath her feet, before beginning, feeling the music swelling among the room as it had done before. When she reached the end of the page, she turned to the box, where the white shape remained. She was strangely comforted by the fact that it hadn't left, that it was real and she wasn't going crazy.

"You played it better earlier," the voice said harshly. Lisette didn't react to the criticism, for she knew it herself. Having an audience of whom she was unsure had made her nervous and she was aware it lacked the passion she had played with earlier.

"I'm aware," she replied. "The music is gorgeous, it makes me nervous to play it for someone with such great musicianship."

She couldn't tell the reaction of the figure, but she hoped it was one of flattery, not of disdain.

"It's something I've been working on for a long time," it replied, merely a whisper. There was a brief silence, as if it was reflecting on something, before it cleared its throat and said much more loudly, "Why did you make an edit to my score without my permission?"

She smirked. "You cannot deny, monsieur, that the organ suits the style you are going for."

The figure shifted, bringing itself closer to the edge of the box, but not revealing itself from the shadows. "I never denied it. I'm simply asking why you changed it without finding out who the composer was."

"How was I supposed to know?" she inquired. "How does one find the opera ghost when he does not exist at all?"

She heard the figure scoff and shrink away. "I appear when it's convenient for myself."

She turned at the organ, and with a wave of adrenaline, played the page once more, this time feeling the passion of the music growing within her. The chromaticism and the movement of her fingers and feet seemed to sweep together and join as if a live being, and she felt sweat begin to pour down her temples as she tried to hold back the tears that were forming in her eyes. When she reached the end of the page, she cried out in frustration and leapt from the seat, throwing herself at the edge of the stalls.

"Monsieur, please!" she cried. "I'll give anything to hear the rest of the piece!"

She saw the figure was now sitting in a relaxed position, almost as if its legs were crossed.

"I'm impressed," she heard it mutter. "You are what I need to lead this music to the success it deserves."

"Monsieur?" she questioned, not understanding.

"You will do," the voice said in its musical tones, standing. "There is no second page… yet. If you remain discrete about this interaction, only then will you see more of music. However, if you tell anyone what has happened between us tonight, I cannot prevent the terrible things that will come upon you."

Lisette couldn't help but feel a chill run up her spine at his words. Somehow she knew this opera ghost meant this threat, but with such fantastic music sitting before her, she quickly made up her mind about her secretiveness.

"You have my word," she responded, squinting to try and make out the other half of the face in the darkness.

"Good day, Fräuline Geiger," the voice said, turning as if to leave.

"Wait!" Lisette cried, startled by her own boldness. The figure turned, surprised by the command.

"Will you not sing for me?" she asked, growing quiet and blushing. "You were the one singing to me all this time, weren't you?"

She saw the figure's shoulders slump.

"Not today," it answered coldly. "We'll see if you prove yourself worthy to obtain more of my compositions."

Suddenly, she found herself very alone in the auditorium of the Palais Garnier, aware of the dimness around her due to the very few lights illuminated. She quickly gathered her things, putting the sheet of music in her hymnal, before leaving the stage and disappearing into the late afternoon, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to imagine the man behind the mask.

* * *

 **Don't forget to rate and review! Looks like we're finally making some progress with the Opera Ghost!**


	8. The New Girl

**Guess who's an official college graduate? I got my Bachelors in Music this weekend and couldn't help but keep thinking about POTO and even watched the movie yesterday after the graduation ceremony to celebrate. I'm hoping within the next couple of weeks before I start my teaching job I can use my free time to punch out a few more chapters. Things are finally starting to move forward with this story and I'm excited to see where Lisette and the opera ghost will take us!**

* * *

 _June, Paris 1880_

Lisette sat anxiously through rehearsals for the next couple of weeks, praying that late at night when she was alone in the ensemble room she would hear the singing and another page of music would appear. However, as the nights passed one by one and they drew closer to reaching the opening night of _Faust_ , she grew dismayed. The strange white shape she hadseen in the box in the auditorium filled her dreams, leaving her waking in the middle of the night with a strange sense that something was watching her. The voice wouldn't stop singing in her head and she longed to hear it once more, even if just for a moment.

Carlotta had somehow managed to learn the complete role of Marguerite, although it did not do Gounod's music justice. Piangi triumphed in the lead role, but Lisette was not content with the performances given by the lead vocalists. The Paris Opera Company would never be truly successful until Carlotta stepped down from the role of prima donna.

She sat with Meg one late June evening in the courtyard towards the back of the opera house, near the chapel. They were enjoying the garden which was flourishing in bright flowers and fragrances, calming their minds after a busy day of rehearsals and practice sessions.

"Do you expect the viscount to be in attendance?" Meg asked, batting her eyes as she blew petals from her hair.

"Is that the only thing you care about when it comes to opening night?" Lisette teased, reclining on the bench and admiring the orange sky as the sun began to set.

"Not the _only_ thing," she responded quickly, "But it certainly makes the whole thing better knowing this weekend will be relentlessly busy."

Lisette couldn't help but think of the count and wondered if he would be accompanying his brother to the performance. She had the strange hope the night she went with Armel to the Conservatoire, but she had not seen him since Meg had given them a tour of the ensemble room.

Opening night was the following evening and Lisette tried to control the butterflies in her stomach. She thought of all of her solos she had for recitatives as well as having the count in the audience, knowing she was the one at the organ and the piano. However, what made her anxious the most was knowing that mysterious figure in the box might be present as well. Images of her score were running through her mind as she closed her eyes and felt her fingers involuntarily moving.

Meg gasped suddenly, standing.

"What's wrong?" Lisette asked, sitting up and glancing around.

"It's them!" Meg hissed, sitting beside her and taking her arm. "There!"

She pointed towards a window which led into one of the hallways leading back to the Grand Staircase. There they saw just who they had been talking about, the count and his brother, chatting with Poligny as they made their way through the opera house.

"Let's go meet them," Meg giggled, taking Lisette's hand and standing.

"No," Lisette begged, feeling how exposed and flushed her face was. "Please, I'm not dressed to see company…"

"Nonsense," Meg said, fixing a loose strand of hair in Lisette's braid. "It's not like either of us really have a chance. We're too low in society for these great men!"

As Meg pulled her back inside, Lisette couldn't help but feel the sting of her friend's words, no matter how truthful they were. She wanted nothing more than to run in the opposite direction, for she hated how jittery the count made her feel, but by the time she made the decision to leave, the three gentlemen rounded the corner and she was trapped.

"Ah, mademoiselles," Poligny said with a smile, recognizing Meg's ballet uniform. "Taking a break from rehearsals, are me?"

"Yes, monsieur," Meg answered sweetly, smiling at the viscount who seemed indifferent to the ladies' appearance. The count, however, smiled warmly at them, his eyes lingering on Lisette a moment longer than they had been on Meg.

"And how is the orchestra doing, Mademoiselle Geiger?" the count asked, startling Lisette.

"Very well, thank you," she answered quietly.

"My brother and I are quite looking at being in attendance tomorrow evening," he responded, motioning to the viscount. He turned to Meg and said, "We're looking forward to seeing your performance, Mademoiselle Giry. I heard you have a solo in Act III. Are you to become the new prima ballerina?"

Meg flushed a deep shade of scarlet seeing that the viscount's eyes were suddenly focused on her. "No, monsieur," she said softly. "La Sorelli is far too talented and just beginning her stage career!"

The count smiled once more. "But I have no doubt if she decides to step down from her position that you will be the one to take her place!"

Meg thanked him again and Lisette couldn't help but admire the count far more than she had before. While his brother seemed distant and cold, the count didn't let social boundaries prevent him from making conversation and being warm and welcoming to those he interacted. While the viscount was certainly more handsome with his blonde hair and blue eyes, Lisette found his older brother far more attractive in his demeanor and appearance.

"Mademoiselle Geiger," the count said, stepping forward, "Would you do me the honor of showing me the organ in the orchestra stalls? I was just speaking to Monsieur Poligny about the variety of instruments in the Palais Garnier and it has been so long since I have heard the organ performed by a professional."

Lisette was taken aback at the request but immediately flattered, trying to avoid Meg's teasing eyes.

"It would be an honor, monsieur," she said, dropping Meg's arm and stepping forward.

"I will see you at home then, alright?" the count said to his brother, taking Lisette's hand in the crook of his arm. They strolled back to the main hallway which led them to the entrance of the Grand Staircase. He paused at the base of the stairs, smiling at her and admiring the scenery around them.

"Sorry for the abruptness," he said with a laugh. "Monsieur Poligny has a tendency to talk one's ear off and I needed a break."

Lisette smiled, understanding his strange behavior from earlier. "I can still show you the organ if you'd like. It's such a privilege to play it for the opera. I can't remind the last time it was used!"

He agreed and they made their way into the auditorium and backstage, where the count was fascinated by every prop or set piece they came across, inquiring about the artistry and inspiration. He told her more about her parents, how he was enjoying Paris compared to Chagny, and how he had seen _Faust_ performed in London a few years prior. He even inquired about her favorite operas and pieces of music and she had to remind him from his surprised expression that she grew up knowing German Romanticism and lieder rather than the famous French composers everyone in Paris knew and worshipped.

"Do you have a favorite piece of lieder?" the count asked as they descended down the steps into the orchestra stalls.

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, happy to talk about one of her favorite genres of music. "Schumann's _Dichterliebe_. It's perhaps the most beautiful song cycle I've heard!"

"I don't think I'm familiar with it," the count replied. They had now reached the orchestra stalls, with the count having to bed over so he wouldn't hit his head on the wooden beams. They made their way to the piano which had been positioned just beside the organ.

"I'll play it for you," she said gleefully, sitting down at the bench. "I only know the first song, 'Im wunderschönen Monat Mai.'"

"What does that mean?" the count inquired, studying the inside of the instrument as she lifted the lid.

"In the beautiful month of May," she answered, flexing her fingers. "I'll do my best to sing. It's written for a soprano or tenor and I'm afraid my voice is not classically trained."

She closed her eyes, remembering the first time she had heard this as a child in Leipzig. The chords gently arpeggiated from her hands and she remembered spring in Germany when her family would go on long trips during the countryside. She missed the rolling hills and farm life she would see from her family's carriage as they made their way to their country home for the summer. She knew her voice would not to the song justice, but she did her best to imitate the passion she'd heart from vocalists at the Conservatoire.

" _Im wunderschönen Monat Mai_ ," she sang, her voice wobbly. "In the beautiful month of May, _als alle Knospen sprangen, da ist in meinem Herzen die Liebe aufgegangen._ As all the flower-buds burst, then in my heart love arose.

" _Im wunderschönen Monat Mai, als alle Vögel sangen, da hab' ich ihr gestanden main Sehnen und Verlangen._ In the beautiful month of May, as all the birds were singing, then I confessed to him my yearning and longing."

She did not sing the French translation as it was clear the count spoke no German and she was reluctant to let him know the subject of the piece. When her fingers left the keys, he sighed dreamily and smiled.

"What glorious music," he whispered, barely audible. "It's always a wonder to me how people can create art as beautiful as that."

She was thankful he didn't ask her what it meant, for she didn't meant to play a song about love in front of a man she was barely acquainted with.

"May I hear the organ?" he asked, eyeing the instrument. "I don't think I've ever heard of an organ being placed in an opera house!"

"We're very lucky," Lisette replied, moving from the piano. "I believe it adds so much to the opera house. I hope we will use it more often if we ever decide to perform a Baroque opera."

"Very exciting, indeed," the count said, watching her feet as she placed them over the pedals on the floor. "I heard there will be a small organ solo in _Faust_. May I have a private performance?"

"Certainly," Lisette smiled, placing her fingers in the correct place. While she played, she could see the count wince when she changed the stops to increase the volume, trying to create the same intensity as she had played a couple weeks before. However, since the encounter with the mysterious opera ghost, she couldn't quite bring her musicianship to the same level. She continued to wonder if she'd ever have the opportunity to discover what the rest of the opera ghost's music would sound like.

She turned to the count when she was finished, smiling as he politely clapped.

"Absolutely splendid," he complimented her. "You truly are the most talented musician in Paris!"

"I wouldn't say that," she said, avoiding his gaze but beaming nonetheless.

They went back to the stage where she gave him a quick tour of other set pieces from _Lahore_ that were being prepared to be moved down to the cellars.

"Why save them?" the count inquired.

"You understand operas," Lisette replied blatantly. "You know how so many opera's story lines tend to be the same or set in similar places. It saves the opera company money to reuse them instead of making new set pieces for every production. They're always cleverly disguised so it looks as if it's all brand new."

The count nodded, lightly running his hands over a wooden pillar they had used in a production before Lisette had joined the Paris Opera Company. She felt a strange connection to the count, quite unlike many other friendships she'd made since her accident. The count looked at her as if there wasn't a scar on her face, always looking directly into her eyes instead of her forehead or jaw line. His conversation was always effortless as well, never falling into awkward silence or being filled with small talk. He was several years her senior, but that didn't bother her. She always felt as if she'd never be able to bond with men her age with their lustful eyes and intentions.

"Monsieur," Lisette said, swallowing hard. "I was wondering if you have heard any intentions of Monsieurs Poligny and Debienne retiring? The entire orchestra is perplexed from Reyer's avoidance of the question whenever it is brought forth."

They were currently in the hallway among Carlotta and Piangi's dressing room. He suddenly stopped, glancing around, before motioning for her to come close.

Leaning down to her ear, he whispered, "The rumors are true. The managers are intending to retire, however they are looking for new ones to take their place. Part of the reason why my brother and I decided to become patrons of the opera house was to help bring the opera company back to its former glory. While Monsieurs Poligny and Debienne have done all they can, it's time to let some new blood in."

Lisette felt a surge of happiness sweep through her. "Monsieur," she said again, "Have you heard of a Mademoiselle Christine Daaé?"

Again, the count stopped walking abruptly and turned to her. "Daaé?" he repeated.

"Yes," she replied. "I heard from a member of the orchestra that the chorus would be earning a new member from the Conservatoire. I've been asking if anyone knows anything about her but she seems to be a ghost!"

"Daaé," the count muttered, rubbing his forehead. "That name sounds terribly familiar. I shall ask my brother, perhaps he knows."

She was content with this answer as they made their way to the front entrance.

"I look forward to seeing your success tomorrow night," the count said. "My brother and I have reserved a box quite close to the stage with the perfect angle to see both the stage and the orchestra!"

Lisette flushed a bright red. "It will certainly be a night to remember."

As the count left, she let out the breath she'd been holding during their entire time together. She felt an elated skip in her step as she made her way back to the stage to practice the organ solo in _Faust_. Despite what the count may have thought, she was aware of the mistakes she'd made from not practicing for nearly two days.

When she returned to the organ, she found several candles lit which she sworn had not been there when she'd left with the count. However, they were positioned in the perfect place to light up the organ and her music so she did not complain.

As she sat, she heard a shuffle of footsteps from above. A pair of voices were chattering away and Lisette guessed it must be a pair of ballerinas who came to practice in hopes that the stage would be empty. However, as the voices drew nearer, she heard a faint, "Lisette, is that you?"

Recognizing Meg's voice, she replied, "Yes, just below!"

"And this is the auditorium where all of our performances are held," she heard Meg say. Lisette rolled her eyes, wondering if she was still giving the poor viscount a tour of the opera house for the second time! She finished the last chord of the solo in _Faust_ before ascending the steps to the stage, slightly taken aback when she saw who was with Meg.

There was a girl, perhaps a few years younger than herself, with dark chocolate curls and large, brown eyes staring intently at the large and beautiful performance hall surrounding them. She was wearing an elegant dress made from silk with her hair neatly pinned back but still billowing in ringlets down to her waist. She was the most beautiful girl Lisette had ever seen and she flushed in embarrassment thinking of her plain hair and brown dress.

"Ah, Lisette!" Meg cried, flinging herself across the stage to her friend. "I'm so happy to find you here! Maman said you'd be practicing. Lisette, this is Christine Daaé who's just arrived from the Conservatoire!"

The girl and Lisette eyed each other for a little bit. She could see Mademoiselle Daaé eyeing her scar and tried to avoid her gaze, shifting her score in her hands.

"Pleased to meet you," Lisette said softly, curtsying.

Mademoiselle Daaé didn't say much in return, but nodded politely.

"I'm just giving her a tour of the opera house," Meg replied, obviously delighted there was another girl in the opera house close to her age. "She'll be with the chorus members, but the chorus, ballet, and orchestra work so closely together that I assured her we'll all be good friends in no time!"

"When did you leave the Conservatoire?" Lisette asked, trying to establish conversation with this young woman. If Armel was correct about her possibly becoming the next prima donna, she was determined to become an acquaintance of her to make future rehearsals more bearable.

"A few months ago," the girl answered meekly. "I studied there for three years before coming here."

"I studied at the Conservatoire!" Lisette answered brightly, swallowing the lump in her throat that was forming from the girl's silent refusal to look directly at her. "You must have arrived when I left to come here. It's been nearly three years!"

Mademoiselle Daaé didn't say much in response and it was clear Meg was picking up on the difficult interaction between the two.

"Why don't I show you the chorus room?" Meg said, taking the young girl by the arm. "We'll see you tomorrow, Lisette!"

She forced a smile on her face as the two young women left, trying not to let her dismay show, but once they were out of sight, she let the tears roll down her face, wiping them on the back of her sleeve as she went back to the organ to collect her music. However, her tears immediately stopped when she glanced into the audience and laid eyes on the box that the opera ghost had been in just a few weeks prior. There was nothing there, of course, but she was beginning to wonder if she should stop waiting for this opera ghost to come to her or if she should be the one to go see him. She'd heard rumors about Box Five and how Poligny was too superstitious to go near it. Meg consistently reminded the ballerinas that it was where the opera ghost dwelled at all performances and he was the cause for any strange things that might occur during the production if he was displeased.

She set down her music and went towards the main hallway where the public made their way into the performance hall. On each level of the hallways, there was always a row of five to six doors which lead into private boxes for the rich members of society who came for a night of amusement. She paused when she came to the door that read Box Five, glancing from either side of the hallway, before opening it and stepping inside.

It was eerily dark with the performance hall not being lit except for the stage. The box was split in two by a row of curtains that one could shut behind them in the cushioned seats near the ledge that overlooked the stage. She went to one of the seats and admired the view of the hall from this perspective. Her view was so often overlooking the audience that she had almost forgotten what it would be like to simply attend and enjoy a performance instead of being a part of one. While she admired the set for _Faust_ that was in disarray in preparation for tomorrow evening, to her surprise she noticed she had a clear view of the organ and piano in the orchestra stalls from this perspective. A chill ran up her spine at the thought that someone who sat in this box could have clear visibility of her and she remembered Mademoiselle Daaé's avoidance of gaze, making a lump in her throat appear once more. Just as she was about to turn to leave, a chilling voice gave her a great start.

"Stay where you are and do not turn around."

For a brief moment, she thought she had been caught by a stage hand and was prepared to fight back if they tried to do anything, but the voice somehow immediately subdued that fear while arising another one. It was the beautifully lilting voice of the opera ghost and she felt sweat break out on the back of her neck.

"Monsieur," she said breathlessly.

"Fräuline," he answered.

She couldn't help but smile at his German address of her. She was so used to being called "mademoiselle" that it was strange being addressed in her native language.

"You'll have to excuse me for being out of contact for so long," he said in a low voice, as if he was standing right behind her. "My schedule's been quite busy preparing for this opera."

"Preparations?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"Oh, just a few minor adjustments," he replied with a sneer in his voice. " _Faust_ is perhaps my favorite opera and I can't afford any difficult persons to interfere with the music."

She admired his words, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"Do I need any adjustments, monsieur?" she inquired, truly curious. "I find _Faust_ to be one of the most difficult pieces of music I've encountered thus far in my life."

There was a long pause and for a moment, she thought he had left. She almost turned around when the voice said, "I will carefully watch your performance tomorrow night and leave you with any notes I might have."

The blood drained from her face thinking of being watched, even by a ghost, and she felt her hands begin to shake as she swallowed hard. The scar on her face seemed to ignite a fire and she brought a hand to it, hoping she could disappear.

"Have I offended you?" the voice asked, more gently this time.

"N-no," she answered, trying to pretend she was invested in looking at the orchestra stalls.

Again, there was another long pause. However, this time she felt a shift behind her, as if there was a real person in her presence.

"May I see you, monsieur?" she asked.

"No," the voice answered coldly.

"Will you at least sing for me?" she begged. "Or let me play more of your music? These last few weeks have been so torturous!"

"Your questions will be answered after tomorrow's performance," he answered. "It will depend on your performance and if your musicianship will do _my_ music justice. I must see how you perform another composer's full work before I begin to show you mine."

She wanted to scream from being so frustrated, but she knew if she turned around and confronted this mysterious figure that she would ruin any chance she had of hearing his music again. She took a deep, cleansing breath and nodded, knowing if she said anything she would lose control.

"I bid you good luck, Fräuline," the voice said. "Wait for twenty seconds, then you may leave."

She counted silently in her head, a thousand thoughts going through her mind, before reaching twenty and slowly turning, finding herself quite alone. She suddenly grew ashamed of the way she had acted, knowing that if she continued to be self-conscious of her scar then it would only dominate the rest of her life.

As she made her way back to the stalls and settled herself in front of the organ once more, she took a deep breath and decided to spend as long as she needed to practicing her part for tomorrow's performance. If the opening night was a flop, if wouldn't be because of her.

And with that thought, she let out the breath she'd been holding and plummeted into the instrument.

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	9. Opening Night

**If you haven't been getting notifications about new chapters, I am so sorry! I was posting and updating when that weird glitch was going on with the website where apparently people weren't getting notifications for story updates. Enjoy this longer chapter to make up for it!**

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 _June, Paris 1880_

It was opening night and Lisette could feel it in the air.

The opera house had been in a near panic that morning when many of the stage hands had come in to find out that part of the roof had leaked onto a backdrop used throughout the entirety of Act IV. Poligny had declared that his health would be ruined by the end of the night if things did not improve. The orchestra seemed to be the only ensemble within the Palais Garnier that was prepared for the evening, but they were also the only ensemble that didn't need to worry about costumes and props.

Lisette and Armel spent most of the afternoon in the ensemble room, making sure to stay out of the way to practice difficult sections and chat about the arrival of Christine Daaé.

"What was she like?" Armel inquired when they were taking a break. "Gabriel has nothing but praises to say about her!"

Lisette shrugged. "She didn't say much and I haven't heard her sing. All I know is that she entered the Conservatoire after both of us left."

"Her father is the famous Swedish violinist," Armel stated. "I believe he came to Paris several times when I was a boy."

"I wouldn't know much about him," she commented. "I was raised in strict German music and hardly got to hear anyone outside of Leipzig or Dresden!"

Armel rolled his eyes but smiled. "I also heard you've been spending quite a lot of time with the count!"

She flushed a deep shade of scarlet, her heart hammering in her chest. "Who told you that?"

"So you don't deny it?" he asked.

"If you consider a brief tour of the performance hall 'quite a lot of time,' then I suppose so," she answered coolly.

"I don't like him," Armel cried, crossing his arms after setting his bassoon in its case.

"Now why on earth do you say that?" Lisette laughed, leaning back on the keys of the piano as she faced him. "The count and his brother are very nice men and they'll give this place some new blood!"

"He's not truly interested in the opera house," Armel scoffed. "They're both bachelors and just looking for a bit of fun!"

"Oh, goodness Armel!" she laughed. "Not every bachelor in Paris acts the way our stage hands too. They're from a more respectable part of society!"

"Respectable from our perspective," Armel said darkly. "Do you have any idea how many of those 'respectable' gentlemen have mistresses?"

"And why are you so interested in the count all of a sudden?" Lisette asked. "You never seemed to care about the other patrons we've had in the past."

"The other patrons weren't dangerous," Armel muttered, shuffling his feet uncomfortably.

"Dangerous?" she exclaimed. "If the count is dangerous, then I certainly must be the most threatening person in all of Paris!"

"I just don't want you to get hurt," he spat, standing and walking over to a nearby window.

"Hurt?" Lisette questioned. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I see the way you look at him!" he said, briefly glancing at her before returning his gaze outside. "It's no secret you admire him."

She felt her face burning and did her best to keep a straight face, trying not to let her embarrassment show from the truth of his words. She stood as well, pretending to organize the stack of music sitting on the closed piano lid, fidgeting through the papers meticulously.

"I admire Count Philippe no differently than any other person here," she said, trying to keep her composure. "I have no expectations of our interactions other than to make a pleasant acquaintance for future collaborations."

"Future collaborations?" Armel sneered. "Don't be ridiculous, Lisette."

"I'm not being ridiculous!" she huffed, turning and slamming a foot on her music. "He admires my playing and has told me so on several occasions. It is not wrong of me to expect future encounters with him."

"But he will never think of you as anything else," Armel said coldly. "Just look at yourself! You're a female pianist, a role that's dangerously out of place in Parisian society and you have-"

He suddenly stopped, immediately regretting what was almost said. She could see that he hoped she hadn't guessed what he was about to say, but it was too late when the tears began streaming down her face.

"Lisette," he said softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it… I was selfish to say that. Please…"

Gathering her music in a swift motion, she fled from the room, knowing that among the chaos in the hallway her tears wouldn't be seen. She flew up the many spiral staircases, looking for any kind of refuge away from the crowds of chorus members and ballerinas scattered about trying on costumes and either dancing or singing through their parts for tonight. When she reached the top level, she was amazed to still see so many people around and found a small, wooden door which she entered through.

She almost cried out when she took a step forward and looked down. She was among the catwalks above the stage, looking down as she saw Piangi practicing one of his staged entrances with Gabriel. Debienne was sitting in the audience, nervously staring at his watch. As usual, Carlotta was late, and the rehearsal for the lead vocalists had to go on without her. Across one of the cat walks, Lisette saw a door which led to the opposite side of the stage, which she assured herself was not normally occupied by cast members. She crossed it carefully, looking around in case Joseph Buquet was nearby to scold her, and darted inside the door, shutting it behind her.

She darted up another flight of stairs and through another door before shutting it behind her, letting the tears fully burst forth upon knowing she was entirely alone. Looking around, she found she was in a small room entirely made of wood with wooden beams all around and a curved ceiling. There was a window on a slant looking down and as she glanced in it, she realized she was above the main dome within the auditorium. There was a strange pulley system connected to a rope that ran through the window and she realized it was what held up the chandelier that loomed over the audience's heads.

She sank against the wall, burying her face in her hands, and trying to muffle a scream that wanted to ring throughout her entire body. As she leaned her head back and let the tears flow down her cheeks, she tried to catch her breath. She knew deep down inside that the count didn't admire her in the way she admired him, but they were still just barely acquainted that she couldn't help but hope. She hadn't been admired by a man since before her accident and she was beginning to think she may never be admired again with her distorted face.

"Hello?"

She stood up, darting to the door, not realizing that was the only entrance into the room, and opened the door to reveal Joseph Buquet, a stern look on his face.

"Oh!" he cried, seeing her solemn expression, "My apologies, mademoiselle. I thought…"

His voice trailed off and he shook his head, obviously unwilling to share what his suspicions might have been.

"I'll be out of your way," she said, trying to inch her way through the door.

"Is everything alright?" he asked. "You didn't see anyone up here, did you? No one's hurt you?"

"No," she said softly, avoiding his gaze and desperately wishing he would let her go. "It's just been me. If you'll excuse me, I have a lot of practicing I need to get done tonight…"

He stepped aside, letting her pass, and she did her best to wipe her tears away before descending back to the ensemble room, which she knew would be abandoned by now. If Armel was still there she would go down to the orchestra stalls to practice if the lead vocalists were done with their rehearsal.

However, she was surprised to find Monsieur Debienne standing in the ensemble room, looking thoughtfully around as if he was looking for something.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Geiger," he said upon seeing her. "You'll have to pardon my intrusion. I thought I might find the maestro present."

"I'm afraid not, monsieur," Lisette replied. "Maestro Reyer must still be at home. He normally doesn't show for the performance until an hour prior to curtain call."

"I see," Debienne said, scratching his forehead.

"May I be of any assistance?" she said, seeing his worried expression.

"Oh, it's nothing," he said, waving her question away. "La Carlotta has not shown for the rehearsal and Gabriel is quite close to having a stroke."

Lisette nodded, understanding the man's frustration. "Has anyone been sent to her home?"

"The last time we went someone to check if Carlotta was at home she about ripped the poor boy's ear off," he replied with a scowl. "I'm at my wits end with that woman! I'm praying tonight will be a success or else we will have seen the last of La Carlotta at the Palais Garnier."

She did her best to not show how hopeful she was that his statement might become true and avoided his gaze.

"I look forward to hearing you tonight," Debienne said, making his way to the exit. "This is my last opening night at the opera house…"

His voice trailed off and he looked up quickly, his eyes wide as he realized he had said something which he did not mean to share, but it was too late.

"Last opening night?" Lisette questioned, suddenly keenly interested.

"Oh dear," Debienne said, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Now I've done it. Poligny will not be happy with me when he hears about this. Yes, the rumors you've heard are true. Poligny and I will be retiring in a few months. We're hoping to build up this production so whoever comes in to take over our positions will have an easy transition."

"I'm very sorry to see you go, monsieur," she said softly. "Have you any idea of who the new managers will be?"

"Not yet," Debienne muttered with a shake of his head. "We're currently searching. We're hoping to find someone local with a musical or management background. The Palais Garnier needs to be revitalized!"

The thought of so many changes coming in the near future was terribly exciting. As Debienne left to return to the stage, she couldn't help but pray that God might send the Paris Opera Company a new manager who had a backbone against Carlotta.

The rest of the day continued in the normal chaos. She helped Meg braid her hair and fit into her costume and overheard the gossip among the ballerinas that the count and viscount would be in the audience tonight. Despite Armel's harsh words earlier, she couldn't help but feel a flutter in her stomach every time Count Philippe's name was mentioned. Many of the ballerinas were swooning over how handsome the viscount was, but Lisette merely thought of him as a boy. La Sorelli, however, was unusually soft spoken as the ballerinas inquired about her opinion, simply stating the opera house was lucky to have such generous patrons.

"She's acting quite mysterious, isn't she?" Meg commented when they were alone in the hallway.

"Who?" Lisette asked, braiding her own hair to wrap into her traditional milkmaid hairdo.

"Sorelli," Meg replied, rolling her eyes. "She spent nearly half an hour talking with the count yesterday morning after rehearsal."

"Oh," Lisette said, trying to ignore the jealousy that was beginning to bubble in her stomach.

She saw Meg give her a strange look from the corner of her eye, but ignored it as she pinned her hair to the top of her head. As they rounded the corner to go to the stage where Meg could stretch and Lisette could briefly run through a few passages on the organ, a young woman dressed in a tight fitting dress and pinned up ringlets bumped into them.

"Christine!" Meg cried in delight, taking her arm. "I was wondering where you were! Are you finding your way?"

"Yes," Christine said, smiling at the ballerina. She nodded at Lisette, but again, she was averting her gaze to keep from staring.

"Are you going to be in the production tonight?" Meg asked excitedly. "The chorus's dresses are so beautiful!"

"No, no," Christine said, blushing. "I'm simply aiding Monsieur Gabriel with anything he might need tonight."

"When will you be joining us in the production?" Lisette inquired, smiling as gently as she could.

"I believe next weekend," Christine said. "I know most of the score already from my studies at the Conservatoire, but as the part of Marguerite and I'm having to learn the soprano part in the chorus."

Lisette was delighted to know Christine was familiar with the lead soprano role, meaning she could step in as an understudy in Carlotta were to quit or not show up for a production. Unlike the stark and ridiculous looks of Carlotta, Christine was young and beautiful and had the potential to impress the audience with her looks as well as her talent if her voice proved worthy enough.

"Is the chorus part difficult?" Lisette asked, flicking through her own score to see if she had glimpses of the soprano section.

"Not as difficult as Marguerite's part," Christine answered, "But still very difficult. I'm impressed with the high level of repertoire as well as how well it's performed!"

"Where are you staying now that you've left the Conservatoire?" Lisette inquired, wanting to know more about this young woman's background. "Do your parents live in the city?"

"No," Christine responded sadly. "My parents have both gone to the Holy Virgin. My father died a few years prior to me entering the Conservatoire and he's the only reason why I'm here today."

"My condolences," Lisette said, blushing upon realizing she had brought up a distasteful subject. "I didn't realize…"

"No, no," Christine said smiling, "It's quite alright."

"Christine is from Sweden," Meg said, taking a seat on a nearby prop. Lisette saw a stage hand nearby give the ballerina a dirty look, but said nothing and continued to fix the ropes he was untangling.

"Really?" Lisette asked.

"Yes," Christine replied, a distant look in her eye. "We didn't stay there much after Mother's death. Papa was always traveling and bringing me along. He played his violin in many great cities and always had me sing with him. I can't really say I'm from anywhere!"

After finishing, for the first time since she'd finished speaking, she looked Lisette directly in the eye.

"I've heard you're from Germany," Christine commented. "Is that so? I spent quite a lot of time in Germany with Papa as a child."

Christine's words brought a smile to Lisette's face. It had been so long since she'd had the opportunity to talk with anyone about her homeland who'd also been there!"

"Yes," Lisette nearly shouted, clapping her hands together. "Where in Germany? I lived in Leipzig and Dresden growing up."

"Oh dear," Christine said, smiling weakly. "Unfortunately I've never been to either. I spent most of my time in Hamburg and a small town called Dinkelsbühl which was absolutely charming at Christmastime!"

"I adore Dinkelsbühl!" Lisette exclaimed. "My parents used to take my brothers and me there to the Christmas festival as a child!"

Lisette and Christine continued to chat about their travels in Germany and France until many of the cast members began to file onto the stage, preparing to warm-up before the doors opened for the audience. The two women bid adieu before each making their way to their own destination. Lisette felt elated as she sat herself at the piano, a smile planted on her face that she couldn't get rid of.

In their conversation, Lisette had learned that Christine was twenty, an only child, and lived with her guardian, Madame Valerius, in an apartment nearby the opera house. Christine joined the Palais Garnier in hopes of discovering her passion for singing once more, for she remarked she felt she'd lost her love for music since the death of her father. This conversation had reminded Lisette to be grateful for who she was and her situation, despite how sorry she felt for herself because of her face. Both of her parents were still alive as well as her three brothers and despite her mother having objections to her moving to Paris to continue her studies, she had always been supported for her interest in music. It was a strange society women like Lisette and Christine had grown up in; where they were encouraged to become well-rounded individuals by learning how to play an instrument but being discouraged by making a career out of it.

As she warmed up her fingers with scales and arpeggios, she avoided the gaze of Armel who entered and sat near the other side of the stalls, obviously wanting to catch her attention. She was still upset by his brash comments earlier and would need some more time before she would be able to speak to him with a clear head. As the cast members and ballerinas cleared from the stage, she heard the usual buzz of the audience as the doors opened and the crowd came pouring in, chatting away. The opera was more of a social event that a true appreciation of the arts, but Lisette didn't mind. There were still many attendees who had a deep appreciation for opera who made up a large portion of the ticket sales every season. Although the lip of the orchestra stalls blocked her view of the orchestra seating within the auditorium, she was still able to see the private boxes and the upper levels. She did her best to make it obvious she wasn't searching for where the count would be sitting, but she felt her hands grow sweaty at the thought of him nonetheless.

As she played through a couple of passages from the overture, her hands began to shake and her heart began to hammer in her chest. She remembered her encounter from the previous night and glanced up in terror at Box Five. There was no one there, nor should she expect to see anyone there during the performance, but she knew that if he truly was as brilliant as his music made him seem that he would be watching her one way or another.

Suddenly, with a strange sense of horror, she spotted the count and his brother. However, as the viscount took a seat in their private box, she recognized that they were indeed sitting in the opera ghost's Box Five. She glanced around, to see if anyone had noticed the normally vacant box being occupied. In her time at the Palais Garnier, she had not once seen anyone sit in Box Five. She wondered how the count convinced the superstitious Poligny to let them view the production from there. Despite trying to look occupied, she met the eye of Count Philippe and he smiled warmly which she greatly returned. He nodded and made a signal as if he was looking forward to her playing and she bit her lip to hide a laugh, delving back into her music and ignoring the stares she was receiving from Armel.

The beginning of the opera began and Lisette had to consistently remind herself to concentrate on her music rather than imagine what was going on the stage above them. She couldn't help but glance at the two new patrons, who were obviously intrigued by the storyline already and sitting on the edge of their seats. The entire first act was without Carlotta which made it quite pleasing to listen to with consistently hearing Piangi's tenor range mixed with the primo baritone. Lisette was fascinated with the libretto and longed to see what the production looked like on stage, but remembered how she was being watched not only by the opera ghost, but the count as well. She caught him looking her direction several times and pretended to have her gaze focused on Reyer who was already batting sweat away from his eyes.

When they reached intermission, she felt sweat dripping down her dress and her face. She had never concentrated so fully on a piece of music and for such a long period. She analyzed every movement of her fingers, every pedal she pressed with her feet on the organ, and every adjustment she made with the stops. The orchestra as a whole was concentrating on Reyer's every movement. Carlotta's performances were always unpredictable and the majority of Act II and III was duets between Carlotta and Piangi, meaning that no one knew how quickly or slowly she would take her tempos. When Reyer finally lowered her baton, she thanked God knowing there were only two more acts left before the opera would be over.

The orchestra dispersed, either to go use the restroom or get a cup of tea to refresh themselves after a stressful performance so far. There were several times that the orchestra and Carlotta were not together, but Lisette comforted herself in knowing that she was always right with Reyer's baton. Before leaving the stalls, she glanced at Box Five where there was still no sign of the opera ghost, but saw the viscount whisper something into his brother's ear. He wasn't looking in her direction and she didn't linger in fear of Armel spotting her interest at the moment. She made her way backstage where she found a solitary spot to sit and rest her eyes for a moment, feeling the strain of reading music in such dim light for so many hours.

"Alone, are we?"

She jolted from her spot at the gruff voice, instinctively raising her hand to her face. Joseph Buquet was leaning on a nearby wall, a glass bottle in his hand which he took a long swig from.

"You of all people should understand, monsieur," Lisette replied, keeping her gaze to the side. "I need a moment's silence before going back to the ruckus of the performance."

She hoped her words would give him the invitation to leave, but instead he moved closer, the stale smell of alcohol surrounding them.

"I enjoy being alone myself," Buquet remarked, sitting himself next to her. She did her best to shift away, not hiding how his proximity to her made her uncomfortable. He didn't seem to detect it, for he crossed his legs and took another swig from the jar.

"I often see you here alone at night," he said, smiling through yellow teeth. "It's not safe for a young woman like you to be wandering around in the dark."

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she said, standing. His comments were giving her a strange feeling in her stomach and she wished some of the ballerinas would come closer this way to give them a distraction from this conversation.

"I hope you know I never leave my shift until I know you've gone as well," he said. His arm was loosely resting on the beam behind them, but Lisette did not like the inflection in his voice as he said it. She stood once more, nodding slightly, before making an excuse to go back to the stalls before the curtain rose.

A shudder went up her spine at his words. With her strange face, she'd never thought herself to be an object of prey to men, rather the object of their laughter. However, as she walked away from Buquet and returned to the piano, she felt a shudder go up her spine once more, careful not to glance at Box Five to avoid any attention from Armel who was watching her closely from across the orchestra stalls.

The rest of Act IV and V went as expected. The orchestra sounded phenomenal, working as one voice rather than many different instruments which happened to be playing at the same time. She felt overwhelmed in Act V when Faust and Marguerite sang their final duet together before Marguerite's death. Even with Carlotta's shrill voice, she still felt pity for her character when she played the organ which represented Marguerite's ascension to heaven and felt no sympathy when Faust was committed to hell for his crimes. The show ended with a standing ovation and she could see Reyer's satisfactory smile, meaning there would be no need for a rehearsal tomorrow before the second performance.

The count and his brother were standing, clapping wildly and crying out their congratulations to the cast as the rest of the audience. Lisette again saw nothing in Box Five except for the two gentlemen and gave a warm smile to the count when they caught eyes.

"Well done," Reyer whispered to the orchestra as the crowd dispersed from the auditorium. The opera-goers would spend the next half an hour chatting in the Grand Staircase and Foyer, but she was so exhausted from the performance that she desired nothing more than to go home and fall asleep.

As she was packing her music into her rugsack, she saw Armel approach from behind.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, before scurrying away. She looked after him with a raised brow, wondering how she could possibly reconcile with him after their interaction earlier.

She lingered for a moment longer, pondering if she should go to the Grand Staircase to find the count, but looking down at her plain black dress and swept up hair that it was not within her social rank to go mingle among the many wealthy Parisians. With a gloomy heart, she bid goodnight to the flautists who were packing up their things and went to the ensemble room, finding it empty with most of the musicians already gone.

She anxiously ran to the piano, hoping to find some kind of paper left for her, but there was nothing. Her heart sank once more upon realizing that she wouldn't be able to converse with the count and her performance had apparently displeased the opera ghost. She almost grew angry at the thought. It wasn't her fault that Carlotta performed poorly and made the entire ensemble suffer! She had performed to the best of her ability and she decided that it was the opera ghost's loss for not realizing that.

Upon stashing her music in the seat of the piano bench, her eyes grew wide when her gaze fell onto a single, red rose with a black ribbon tied around it. Lying beside it was a scroll, sealed with wax in the shape of a skull. She glanced over her shoulder, checking to make sure no one was in the room, before quickly placing the scroll in her rugsack. There were still too many people present in the opera house for her to play, but her curiosity had grown much too strong. She made up her mind to go to the Christuskirche where she rehearsed for Sunday services and knew it would be abandoned on a Friday night.

Hurrying along the corridors, she paused before entering to take her normal shortcut through backstage. If Buquet had been telling the truth earlier, he would still be here, and she shuddered thinking of what might happen if she were to encounter him alone. Instead, she took the long route by venturing through the ballerina's dormitories and exiting near the front of the building. There were still many audience members filing out of the opera house, laughing gaily from too much champagne and getting into their carriages. She quickly turned the other direction, clutching her rugsack tightly to her and admiring the red rose in her hands, mindful of its thorns.

To her delight, the church was abandoned, the stain glass windows dim and dark. She quietly entered the sanctuary, venturing into the parlor and chapel to ensure there was no one else present, but she was quite alone. She couldn't help but run to the organ, letting the rose fall on a nearby pew and all but ripping the sheet of paper from her rugsack and placing it on the organ.

She gasped immediately at what she saw.

The technique needed to play this passage was perhaps the most difficult she'd seen apart from selections she'd played by Bach and Buxtehude. Not only would her right and left hand be playing entirely separate voices, but the foot pedals would also be a third voice which she would have to bring out despite continuing to play with her hands. It would be a challenge, certainly not doable in one night, but she smiled at the thought of a challenge.

As she played the first few notes, she was delighted to discover that it indeed was a continuation of the first sheet of music she had received. What interested her the most about this second page was hearing how the music was supposed to sound after weeks of imagining what it would be like. It was similar to what she had anticipated, the same melodic theme present in all the voices, but the texture and change in tonality altered it in such a way that it was barely recognizable. She was delighted to find that even here in a separate building, this intriguing work still had the same overwhelming effect on her. As she made it to last page where there was a cadence to give her satisfaction knowing she had finished a section of the piece.

As she sat in silence at the organ after she was finished playing, she began to weep. At first, she was unsure why, knowing that it wasn't the music that had provoked this oncoming of emotions. She was crying because she felt ashamed of herself. Not because of her scar, but from the way she hit behind it. She didn't know how to reach out to others or have confidence in herself. She said a silent prayer to God in hopes that He might show her how to overcome her insecurities. Music was the one thing she could hide behind where people could admire her without admiring her physical appearance, but it was seeming that music was taking over her life and soon she wouldn't know who she was without it.

She moved from the bench and picked up the rose, twisting it in her fingers and smelling its scent, reminding her of the early summer weather outside. As the tears ceased, she wiped her face with the back of her black sleeve, not caring that powder was smeared on it. As she left to go home and catch up on sleep for tomorrow's performance, she wondered if the opera ghost would show himself to her or continue to lurk in silence, teasing her with his music.

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	10. A New Secret

**Back with more! Again, I apologize if there's not much consistency in when I'm uploading. I'm trying to upload these as soon as I finish writing and editing. Please let me know if the delays between chapters is a problem!**

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 _July, Paris 1880_

The opera ghost had become silent once more.

Lisette wasn't sure if his silence meant he was displeased with her or if he only spoke when he had something to say. She continued to make small edits to his music, especially now that she was finding a new page for her nearly every week, and figured that as long as new music kept showing up, she was doing the correct thing.

They were now four weeks into _Faust_ and it was a wild success. Carlotta was the most well-known opera star in all of France and Lisette had finally reached a point of contentment with the score, no longer afraid of it but quite comfortable. Every performance proved to be a different challenge, however, due to Carlotta never being consistent with her recitatives or always entering several measures too early or late. The quick adjustments that needed to be made for the orchestra were quite stressful and she was certain that if there wasn't improvement on Carlotta's side that there would be riots from the orchestra.

That morning, Lisette had come to the opera house for another lead vocalist rehearsal. The most mistakes within the production had been made in Act V so Reyer called together a rehearsal between Piangi and Carlotta. Lisette was required to be there as the accompanist and she was dreading knowing that it would just be the four of them, including Reyer, in the auditorium all morning.

As she filed through backstage, she saw Joseph Buquet hovering over a group of ballerinas that were taking a break from rehearsal upstairs. As much as she didn't like to admit it, she was thankful the man had found other girls to occupy his time with. She scurried past them, careful to avoid eye contact, before dipping down into the orchestra stalls where Reyer was waiting for her.

"Good morning, Maestro," she said cheerfully.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle," Reyer said, stretching his limbs as he sat in his high seat, flicking through Act V in his score. "Are you prepared for a lengthy rehearsal?"

"Yes, monsieur," she answered, sitting at the piano and stretching her fingers. "I'm quite delighted to see how well our audiences are taking to the production. I was afraid it might be too dark for some!"

"Gounod has always been a Parisian favorite," Reyer said with a smile. "He's also a very good friend of mine. We studied together back in the day."

Just as she was about to inquire where they studied, Carlotta came bursting onto the stage, dressed in a bright yellow dress and hair piled as high as the backdrops behind her. Piangi followed close behind at a safe distance, and rehearsal had begun.

Lisette was thankful that during the rehearsal she was beneath the orchestra stalls where all she had to look at was Reyer and wasn't being preyed upon by Carlotta. There were many times they had to stop and convince Carlotta to look at her score to prove she was singing a passage incorrectly. Lisette knew that if the managers hired a truly professional opera singer that occasions like these wouldn't occur. Debienne and Poligny stopped by for a few moments to observe, but left quickly to not upset the prima donna. By the time the rehearsal was finished, it was late afternoon and they only had hours to prepare for the performance that evening.

Lisette spent the evening with Meg and Christine, repairing a hole that had appeared in one of the skirts Christine wore in Act II. As she pulled the thread through and felt her eyes watering from such intense concentration, Christine gave a gentle smile, signaling the bond that was beginning to form between the two women.

"Oh, would she stop!" Meg complained, hearing Carlotta loudly warming up in her dressing room. The three girls were in the ballerinas' dormitories on the upper floor of the opera house. Besides having a floor between them and the chatter of several other girls, Carlotta's voice still managed to pierce through.

"She can't help it," Christine replied with a sneer in her voice. Lisette laughed, helping tie the ribbon on the back of her costume.

"She was absolutely dreadful today during rehearsal," Lisette said in a low voice so the other ballerinas around them wouldn't hear. "Three weeks into the production and she still doesn't know her score!"

"Are you really surprised?" Meg cried with exasperation. "The rest of us are made to suffer while she sits content with her lack of progress. If Monsieur Debienne and Poligny aren't careful, I've heard talk from several chorus members that they will leave!"

"Our mezzo left _Lahore_ ," Lisette reminded her.

"What?" Christine exclaimed, suddenly interested as she continued to fix her hair.

"Oh, yes!" Lisette said with a chuckle. "We were halfway through the season of _La roi de Lahore_ when then mezzo decided she couldn't collaborate with Carlotta anymore and left. Poor Reyer, I've never seen him so distraught! We had to refund two full houses before they found a replacement and nothing was said to the _divine_ prima donna."

"This opera house is quite backwards," Christine sighed.

"Have you noticed the opera ghost has been up to more mischief lately?" Meg asked, leaning far over her bed to be closer to Lisette .

Lisette had indeed noticed, but she tried to keep a straightforward expression as she braided her hair down her back. "Has it?"

"Oh, enough with the opera ghost," Christine muttered. "All I've heard since I've been here is how the opera ghost is terrorizing everyone! Well, I certainly don't believe-"

Meg instantly covered Christine's mouth, causing both of them to stand with surprised expressions.

" _Don't_ ," Meg commanded, her voice hushed. "If you say something he'll be sure to come after you next."

Lisette chose not to show any expression or take part of the conversation. She had once been in Christine's shoes, but now that more and more music had been showing up on the piano in the ensemble room, she dared not speak against the rumor in fear of this mysterious composer overhearing.

Christine tore Meg's hand away, crossing her arms. Just as she was about to say something, one of the smaller ballerinas, Jammes, approached Meg and asked her to help with her bun.

Lisette bid adieu to Christine and went to the ensemble room to collect her music. Armel was in the ensemble room, but she avoided his gaze and quickly left once she retrieved what she had come for. As she was descending down the stairs to the stage, a panicked voice arose.

"Damn you, Buquet!" the voice of Mercier, the scenery manager, bellowed. "How could you have put them away in the cellars when you know we _always_ use the chains in Act V?"

Lisette came across the two men standing nose to nose with one another at the base of the stairs behind the stage. Buquet, normally red faced, was so flushed that his cheeks were almost purple and Mercier's brown hair was becoming more gray by the moment if he kept up his current temper.

"Don't go blaming me," Buquet spat, pushing him away. "I wasn't the one that put them there. How am I supposed to keep track of all the godforsaken props when the actors leave them cluttered around the stage for everyone to step on?"

Mercier had no reply as Lisette tried to tiptoe backstage, but she caught the gaze of Buquet which instantly set her heart pounding.

"If they were moved they'd be in the third cellar," Buquet said, crossing his arms. "I'm not about to go down there with the mess the ballerinas left the stage for their rehearsal earlier. I need to be there so the stagehands know where to put the backdrops and how much weight should be used to counter them. We have three new traineers! Make one of the chorus members fetch them."

Buquet left, brushing past Lisette while keeping his eyes on her all the while. It wasn't until he disappeared into the darkness of backstage did Lisette begin to breathe once more.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle," Mercier apologized. "I did not realize there was a lady present."

"May I be of help?" Lisette asked timidly, shifting her music to her other hip. The poor scene manager looked so distraught and run down that she suspected he might fall over any minute!"

"May I bother you to inquire after some men that would be willing to go to the third cellar?" Mercier asked. "I'm afraid we've misplaced the chains used for Marguerite's imprisonment in Act V and it's the only place Monsieur Buquet believes them to be."

"I can go, monsieur," Lisette offered, keeping her head low as to not make direct eye contact. She could tell he was fascinated by her scar and pretended not to notice. "I've been down there many times. They store extra parts for the organ and piano down there. I'm very familiar with it!"

"Alone?" Mercier asked, surprised.

"Not alone," a voice replied, making them both jump and turn around.

The count was walking down the stairs, a broad smile on his face. Lisette's heart leapt in her chest seeing him for the first time in civilian clothes and not formal attire.

"Your grace," Mercier said, bowing.

"How do you do?" the count asked, coming by Lisette's side. She felt her face flush hot at his presence and wondered if her scar was standing out more than usual because of it. "I will escort Mademoiselle Geiger to the third cellar. You need not worry, she will be in good hands."

"That's not necessary, monsieur," Lisette murmured but was quickly hushed. In no time, they were descending the damp and cold steps to the opera house's lower cellars. She had been here several times when they were preparing for _Faust_ , ensuring the organ had all working parts, but it seemed more frightening this trip. The count held a candle in his hand, but his presence did not ease her worry at the strange shadows being cast around them and the echoing sounds of water lapping below them.

"Have you been down here before?" Lisette inquired, trying to find a topic to distract her from the sound of rats scurrying along the floor.

"No," the count said with a smile. "It's part of the reason I wanted to accompany you down here. I've become quite bored of being a socialite. If I don't have some adventure I'll surely go crazy!"

"Don't you accompany your brother on social outings?" Lisette asked, steadying herself after nearly slipping on a damp stone. "He's rather young, surely he must be a handful!"

The count shrugged, offering his arm as they descended down the last few steps. "I'm his guardian," he said softly. "But he's a young man now, no longer a child. My deed to my parents is done and he needs to make his own way in the world."

He stopped his train of thought as they made their way into the entrance of the third cellar. It was quite dark, not being able to see more than five feet in front of them with only the candle in the count's hand. He quickly lighted several lamps along the wall, revealing a cacophony of props and set pieces lying around.

"What a mess!" he exclaimed, moving an armchair out of the way.

"Oh yes," Lisette sighed, beginning to dig through a nearby pile. "It's quite a disaster. Mercier's been lecturing Debienne and Poligny for months that something needs to have to organize these cellars, but nothing has been done."

"What are we looking for?" the count asked. "I was so enthralled by venturing down here that I've quite forgotten what our purpose was!"

"To find the chains that Carlotta uses in Act V," Lisette replied with exasperation. "They're silver and made from cloth. I don't understand how someone could have 'accidentally' moved them down here!"

They spent the next several minutes searching in silence, careful to spread out to cover as much ground as possible. Lisette began to worry that they may not be able to find them and have to return to Mercier empty handed, which would greatly upset Carlotta. She shuffled through boxes of old costumes, old dining sets they had used in _Lahore_ , and several arrangements of cloth flowers. She had almost given up hope when something strange caught her eye.

Against the wall farthest from the entrance sat something red which contrasted greatly from the table it was lying upon. It was difficult to see, for it was surrounded by large, stacked beams that had been used in previous productions. She positioned herself carefully so she could move in between the beams and bent down to examine the object.

It was a rose which she guessed had fallen from one of the bouquets made from cloth. However, as she picked it up, she was surprised to feel her fingernail get caught on a thorn. The petals were silky and smooth, immediately confirming that the flower was real, its calming scent emanating as she pressed them to her nose.

Her heart began to race and she quickly glanced over her shoulder to see if the count had noticed her discovery. He was busy looking through an assortment of shackles he had found by a rack of forgotten costumes and seemed to be entirely absorbed by the task before them. She knew this rose had been left intentionally as a sign of the opera ghost. Whether it was meant for her, she did not know. She was afraid of displeasing the master musician and placed it back on the table. Despite having collected enough pages of music to be able to play an entire piece, she still craved for more.

As she bent down to put it back, she glanced at the table it was lying upon. On the stone wall just behind it, she saw a faint crack in the mortar. Normally she would've thought nothing of it, however, as her hand ran over it she felt a small draft against her fingers. She pressed the stone just on the other side of the crack and almost gasped when part of the wall gave way to a small opening. She did not dare to open it fully for fear of the count noticing. As glanced from the rose to the opening in the wall, she couldn't help but smile knowing she had discovered a fantastic secret.

She closed the opening and laughed to herself seeing the chains they had been looking for just beside the crack in the wall. As she picked them up, she decided that now would not be the time to investigate her strange passageway. She would come back later when there wasn't another performance in a matter of minutes.

"I've found them" she exclaimed excitedly, running to the count's side. He breathed a sigh of relief, wiping sweat from his forehead. He escorted her back to the ground level of the opera house, wishing her good luck on her performance before leaving. She felt disappointed at his departure, but did not linger long in her sorrow, thinking of what was awaiting her in the third cellar.

She played with ecstacy that evening in the orchestra, receiving compliments from several wealthy members of society after the curtain dropped. She had looked several times at Box Five, but saw that only the viscount was in attendance. There was no trace of the opera ghost and she went home in dismay that evening, thinking of how she could break the silence between them without music,

As she felt sleep overcome her, she decided that she would venture into the passage she found and face the consequences that awaited her.

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	11. Room of Mirrors

_June, Paris 1880_

The following morning was a dark, overcast summer day. As Lisette woke and saw the almost purple clouds outside, she knew a summer thunderstorm was approaching. They were nearing mid-June and there had been a severe drought in France this past month. The spring had not brought rain and every day had been sweltering and miserable. She was relieved to feel that the temperature had significantly dropped and as she walked outside, she could feel the electricity in the air as the clouds loomed overhead.

Today she had decided to wear her hair down. The humidity outside was too much to keep her hair secured in a braid and so she simply pulled the front of her hair back with a ribbon and let the rest billow down to her waist. Even though the weather was cooler, she immediately felt sweat build on the back of her neck as she made her way through the city, remembering why she always wore her hair back. She stopped at a store on the way to get some wine, bread, and cheese which she would eat for lunch due to her busy schedule at the opera house.

"I simply don't believe you," Sorelli said the minute Lisette entered the opera house. The prima ballerina was lounging on a sofa by the entrance, staring blankly at Joseph Buquet.

"It's true, every word!" Buquet cried, his face growing redder by the minute. "As plain as day I saw him, just behind those curtains not a minute before you walked through."

"Lisette," Sorelli said, standing upon seeing her enter. "Do you believe in the opera ghost?"

She flushed at the question, unsure of how to answer, and did her best to avoid the question. "Why are we talking of the opera ghost?"

"Monsieur Buquet believes he's seen this infamous ghost," Sorelli said, turning back to the stage manager. "He says he saw him just behind those curtains there."

"He was a strange sight," Buquet said, grimacing. "He was tall, with long dark clothes. I saw nothing but yellow skin and thin hairs on top of his head."

"How can that be a ghost?" Lisette questioned, doing her best to not sound sarcastic. "A ghost cannot be of flesh and blood!"

"I believe someone was pulling a prank," Sorelli said, rolling her eyes. "The young girls in the ballet corps are always being scared by one of your men, monsieur. I wouldn't be surprised if they got bored and are trying to get a rile out of _you_."

"That was no costume," the stage manager answered disdainfully. "There was a mask, however, and I couldn't see the person's face."

"There!" Sorelli scoffed. "Now you know it's a prank. A ghost wouldn't wear a mask!"

Lisette couldn't help but think of the strange shape she had seen in Box Five several weeks before and wondered if there was a connection.

"I beg your pardon," Lisette answered meekly, "I must be off. I have a rehearsal with the ballet corps I must prepare for."

She scurried away, Buquet's words running in her mind. She believed he had seen something. People were always claiming that they had seen the opera ghost, but no one had given a description as detailed as his. Her thoughts immediately were drawn to the third cellar below the stage and she thought about her schedule. She had planned on spending her morning practicing for her rehearsal with Madame Giry later that afternoon, but the thought of what lay in the third cellar seemed to torture her, especially after her encounter with Sorelli and Buquet.

She quickly placed her books next to the organ on the stage before darting below, not caring how often she tripped or how slippery the steps were down to the cellars. She had even forgotten a candle and fear gripped at her heart thinking of having to find her way in the dark to the passageway and not being able to see what was before her.

As soon as she entered the third cellar, she immediately regretted her decision. It was deathly quiet, which made her uneasy, and she could hear the water from the sewers below churning with the rain coming down outside. She heard the crack of thunder from all the way below ground and shuddered thinking about where she was and what she was about to do.

She groped around in the dark, feeling props, costumes, and set pieces. The table that the rose had been sitting on had moved to another wall and she spent several minutes running her fingers over the stone, looking for the crack. She cried out in delight upon feeling the draft and pushed, feeling the door give way. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she saw before her a long hallway, filled with cobwebs and puddles of dirty water on the floor. She glanced behind her, as if to reassure that she was still in the opera house, before taking a deep breath and stepping forward.

Her shoes seemed to echo all around her as she walked through the hallway, glancing carefully around and examining where she was. This hallway seemed to be part of a large maze of hallways and she was stunned to discover how much of the opera house had yet to be explored. She quickened her pace, as if hoping to discover a shortcut, but as she stepped onto a tan looking stone, she was horrified to feel her foot sinking and see the floor tilt as a strange angle.

Before she could truly understand what was happening, she felt herself sliding along the stone floor and fell several feet. She lay on the floor for several moments, stunned and feeling the sting in her hands and knees which had broken her fall. She sat up, rubbing her head and feeling a strange lump forming on the back of her skull. At first, she thought she was unconscious, for she was horrified to see herself staring back. She was immediately drawn to her scar and her confused expression, but was horrified to see that she saw not just one reflection, but eight different ones. She rubbed her eyes, but the truth was that she was sitting in a room full of mirrors, all angled towards one another so she was forced to see herself a thousand times over. She also noticed it was unbearably hot and felt sweat forming on her face. Standing, she went to one of the mirrors, rapping against it, but realizing with horror that there was no door. She looked at the floor, the ceiling, and the cracks between the mirror, but there was no way out.

She felt her breath growing faster and more shallow. Trying to remain calm, she tried to understand and recall how she'd found herself in this situation. She remembered the passageway, the third cellar, and her clumsy footsteps. The more she stared at her reflections, the more confused she became. She decided to lie down in the middle of the room and cover her eyes, finding that helped her concentrate on a solution to her situation.

There was no sense of time in this chamber and she was unsure of how long she lay there. She had tried calling for help several times, but there was no answer. The heat was making her thirsty and miserable and she tied the entirety of her hair up with the small ribbon in her possession. Things began to grow fuzzy and dull, and just before she felt herself slip away, she heard a strange melody that sounded awfully familiar, but was unable to place what it was before falling into darkness.

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	12. The First Meeting

Lisette woke in a state of confusion, feeling her head pounding and her eyes groggy. She couldn't recall where she was or how she'd gotten there and she did her best to lie as still as possible for fear she might throw up if she made any sudden movements. When she was finally able to recall her senses, she realized with horror that she was still in the cellars of the opera house. However, she did not recognize the space which she was in and felt fear pounding in her heart. She suddenly remembered the dark passageway and the strange room of mirrors which had been devastatingly overwhelming. She sat up, felt the room spin, and vomited on the floor next to her. Heaving, she stood, feeling for the wall and leaning upon it, trying to put the room into focus. There were several more props and set scenes lying about, however, from the dust and cobwebs upon them, it appeared they hadn't been used for years.

She couldn't remember how she'd gotten here or how. She briefly remembered collapsing in the strange room and as she felt her forehead, she felt sweat which reminded her of the intense heat. Looking to where she had been on the floor, she realized she had been lying on a pile of discarded costumes, acting as a mattress. Blood drained from her face as she recognized she'd either dreamt the whole incident… or someone had rescued and moved her.

The room was silent and she began to hum as an effort to calm herself. She went back to the pile of clothes, cleaning up the mess she'd made and trying to ignore the throbbing of her head. Just as she was about to turn to go upstairs and treat her head, she saw something shift behind her.

A voice emerged, the one that she'd grown to yearn and long for. It was humming the same tune she had been humming just moments before. She turned, not sure if it was her head that was playing games with her or if her mission to discover the opera ghost had been successful.

"Monsieur?" she whispered, barely audible.

"Fräulein," the voice answered.

She felt an involuntary shiver go up her spine at the sound of the angelic timbre. She was ashamed of her disheveled appearance and wondered if he could see her state.

"I do not fare well to strangers lurking about in my opera house," the voice stated in an icy tone.

Her lips quivered at the harsh response. Turning her back to where the voice seemed to be coming from, she answered, "You should not have tempted me by leading me to the opening."

"But now you've come dangerously close to facing the consequences for your curiosity," it hissed. "You're lucky I found you when I did. If I had delayed, you would've suffered far more trauma."

"Well, I thank you, monsieur, for your kindness," she said, her sarcasm biting.

"You are not to share what you saw with anyone," the voice said darkly. "I have already considered that giving you my music was a foolish mistake on my behalf. However, you have remained constant in your excellent musicianship and I do not intent to discontinue our collaboration."

"You speak as if I will succumb to your demands," Lisette said, her voice growing bolder. "I don't know who you are, what you look like, or even where you from, monsieur. Perhaps I am growing tired of working with a ghost and would prefer to work with someone in the flesh and blood."

She was shocked at her declaration, not knowing the calmness that was overcoming her by speaking her mind. The room fell silent for several moments and she was afraid that the opera ghost might have left. She couldn't hide her frustration from knowing she had been injured trying to investigate him, meaning he was dangerous as long as he was a secret to her.

As she was pondering all of this, she saw something move and backed away as she saw a figure enter the faint light of a lamp on the wall. If this was the appearance of the opera ghost, Buquet's description was surely false.

It was true that this "ghost" has a tall and looming physique, dressed head to toe in black clothing with a dark cape around his shoulders. However, his hair was dark and neatly combed back, smoothed by hands covered in dark gloves. On this person's face was the strange, white shape Lisette had been attempting to decipher for several weeks. It was revealed to be a stark, white mask that only covered half of his face. The other half that was exposed carried a solemn and stony expression, yet not unpleasing. He had a square jaw, neatly cut sideburns, and heavy eyebrows which gave the impression he was lacking sleep. Despite his dark appearance, his skin was pale and his were bright green, studying her intensely.

The mask was the most intimidating portion of his costume, but she thought of her own face and wondered if they might share a similarity in that regard. Her expression immediately softened on this thought and she saw a look of surprish flash across his face.

"Does my appearance to you confirm our acquaintance?" he asked softly. "Or are you afraid you've made a terrible mistake, fräuline?"

She was unsure how to answer, but took a step forward as if to contradict his last question. He shrank back, going into the shadows once more.

"I know better than anyone what it feels like to surprise others with appearances," she answered.

" _Verängstige ich dich?_ Do I frighten you?"

She gasped upon hearing him speak in her native language, completely fluent and no hint of an accent. It had been so long since she'd spoken German that she was intimidated by his flawless speech, afraid she would make a fool of herself.

" _Nein_ ," she answered, continuing to speak in German. "Come into the light."

She felt comfort speaking in German and saw him move towards her as if afraid she would attack at any moment. He had crossed his arms and was leaning against a large crate, a scowl on his lips.

"May I ask why you were trespassing in my opera house?" he said in a dangerous voice.

She did her best to not scoff at calling the Palais Garnier _his_ and folded her arms, trying to think of how to form the words in German.

" _Ich möchte es wissen_ ," she replied after a moment. "I want to know."

He seemed to understand exactly what she meant, dropping his arms and standing up straighter.

"It is not your right to know," he said coolly.

"I want to know why I was dropped into that strange room!" she exclaimed, her German growing more confident as she nearly spat the consonants.

"To keep intruders like you out, fräulein."

"How many other people have fallen into that godforsaken place?" she asked, horror stricken.

"Very few," he said, narrowing his eyes, even through the mask. "Most who roam the opera house know better to attract the attention of the opera ghost."

"But here you are in the flesh, Herr Opera Ghost," she addressed him, smirking. "You cannot possibly be a ghost!"

"I am man," he said, annoyed at the smirk on her face. "But my presence is ghostly, thus I have earned the title."

"I cannot continue to work like this, monsieur," she responded, switching back to French. "Your music is perfection, genius… you are surely a prodigy of music. But it's also brought me such discontent that I feel I am going mad because I cannot communicate with you beyond these sheets of paper you leave me and mysterious encounters. If I continue on this way, my musicianship will begin to suffer, which is not an option."

She studied his expression, trying to understand what he might be thinking. He remained distant from her, his lips pursed together in a scowl with a haughty look on his face. She could tell he was thinking deeply about what she said from the way his forehead furrowed as he ran a hand through his dark hair.

"I do not negotiate," he said at last, letting out a deep sigh. "My secrecy is of upmost importance."

"What makes you believe that by meeting and communicating that I would betray you?" she cried. "You have already shown yourself to me. And not only that, but you have shown me your own, original composition You've practically shown me a piece of your soul!"

"I don't see your point," the man said, lurking deeper into the shadows. "And I don't have time for chit chat. I'm afraid you will have to leave the opera house if you do not wish to continue our agreement."

" _Leave_?" Lisette exclaimed, making him jump. "I will not leave! You can't even fathom how hard I've worked to come to this position! Your insolence and pride won't adhere me from years of hard work."

"Watch yourself, woman," the man said darkly, suddenly leaping forward so there was only a foot between them. She could clearly see him once more and was again suddenly frightened by the stillness and lack of expression on the side of his face covered by a mask. "I do not accept talk like this. I do not negotiate."

"Nor do I," she said defiantly. "You may think you own the opera house but it is not you, it is the people who work day after day after day to improve each production despite the idiots than may be on the stage or running the management."

She saw a slight smirk twitch across his lips.

"So you agree that my opera house is not being run properly?" he said teasingly.

She tried to ignore the fact that he continued to call the Palais Garnier "his" and shook her head, bringing a hand to her forehead.

"That's not the point," she said. "We both know your compositions have the power to transform this place and I have the capability to perform them. If we collaborate on my terms, we will be able to transform this place into the center of European music. However, with each of us working separately, it won't be possible."

He seemed to ponder this for a while, leaving her again in silence.

"You shall give me an organ lesson," he said solemnly after a few minutes. "Then I will decide if things shall continue."

She bit her lip, but nodded. It was a fair settlement to this argument that had been carrying on far longer than she intended.

"When?" she asked. "The organ in the stalls won't be available until the day after tomorrow due to ballet rehearsals."

He waved her comment away. "That won't be a problem, fråulein. I shall meet you and we shall go to the other organ in the Palais Garnier."

She crinkled her nose at his statement, quite certain he was mistaken but decided not to say anything due to not wanting to carry this conversation any further.

" _Wohin_?" she asked in German. "Where?"

"Meet me in the third cellar," he answered in the same language and almost laughed seeing the fear in her eyes. "You will be quite safe, fräulein. I will make sure you don't fall into my room of tricks."

She swallowed hard but held out her hand. He stared at it for a few minutes, as if he had never seen the gesture, before taking his cloak and covering his body so his hands were behind it.

"What should I call you, Herr Opera Ghost?" she asked, dropping her arm like dead weight upon seeing his reaction.

"Herr Opera Ghost is quite fine for right now," he said, turning and disappearing into the shadows. "Remember, if you tell anyone about this interaction, you can forget about our collaboration _and_ your position as the prima pianist."

Even though it was just as silent as when he had been standing a few feet away from her, she knew he had disappeared and left her in darkness. Her head was still pounding from her episode earlier and she knew she'd need a cool bath to relieve her of the nausea she was still experiencing, but she was elated! She had finally met this opera ghost and had the opportunity to work with him in person.

As she sat at her dining table later that evening, eating sausages and munching on potatoes while studying her score for _Faust_ , she couldn't stop the hammering in her heart the entirety of that day. Even the thunderstorm and rain that had lasted all day hadn't dampened her spirits and she went to bed with a warm, content feeling that everything was going to work out in her favor.


	13. Erik

**Back with a looooong chapter to make up for my absence in writing these past couple of weeks. The fun part of being an adult is I was assigned jury duty this week and last week so I had time to get this chapter ready to go for publishing with all that waiting time...  
**

 **I'm trying something new with this FanFic by letting it write itself. Normally I like to have an outline going so I can have a brief story line to follow, but I wanted to see if I can truly let the characters run the story, rather than myself. Due to this, however, I'm running into writer's block more frequently and now is one of those times! I'll be doodling the next few days trying to see where Erik and Lisette will take us next...**

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 _June, Paris 1880_

Lisette was perplexed to hear a sharp rap on the door of the ensemble room. She had been convinced she was quite alone in being the only member of the orchestra present at the opera house that day due to the auditorium being scheduled for ballet rehearsals. She had been at the piano, playing through several passages of solo repertoire she was working on to give herself a break from the demanding score of _Faust_.

Taking the small key from her skirts, she unlocked the door and peered out, her heart hammering in her chest. It had been two days since her encounter with the opera ghost and her commitment to meet him was tonight. Even though he had told her to meet in the third cellar, her nerves had been on edge all day thinking about how as the opera ghost he must be able to move throughout the building without a trace. But as she opened the door, she was surprised to see not the strange white mask, but the count staring at her, smiling.

"I thought that was you," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I was having a chat with the managers and thought I'd come by to say hello."

She smiled, opening the door and stepping into the hallway. He was dressed in a sack suit with a four in hand tie which stood out against his pressed shirt. His hair was neatly slicked back and his mustache must have been recently trimmed for she had never noticed how white his smile was until now.

"Always practicing," she said teasingly. "How is the opera business going? _Faust_ seems to be taking Paris by storm!"

"Oh, it's an absolute success," he replied, seeming to stand up taller with pride. "Gounod has always been one of the biggest names in Parisian opera."

She couldn't help but let her lower lip pout just slightly at his remark.

"You disagree?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow at her expression.

"No, what you said is quite true," she said, giving a sense of peace to her earlier response. "I think the exposure to music is limited here in Paris. Many of the pieces I learned as a child in Germany aren't even mentioned here and the Russians are writing some of the most beautiful music nowadays!"

"I take it that you enjoy the work of Tchaikovsky then?" he asked.

"And Rachmaninov," she answered. "His music is some of the most challenging to play in all solo piano repertoire but the passion… oh, your grace, if only you could hear it!"

"May I?" he asked intensely, his bright eyes flashing with something she couldn't quite place her finger on. His inquiry made her flush and she hid her face from his eyes which seemed to be consistently glancing in the direction of her scar. She was very protective of her playing, unwilling to let anyone hear her unless she'd had enough practice. But she concluded that she would play for him. If anyone had a right to hear music outside of the Parisian bubble, it should be someone like the count who has influence.

"Very well," she said, going into the ensemble room once more and leading him to the piano. She sat and stared at the keys, flexing her fingers and taking a deep breath before diving in.

She had decided to play the first movement of his second piano concerto. It was virtuosic, no doubt, but once you looked past the flashy and fast notes that ran under her fingertips, the depth of the music was so powerful. It was hopeful, joyful, yet there always seemed to be a sense of lingering sorrow beneath the piece. She adored the way Russian composers wrote music, passionate and uncaring, yet structured to lead the listener directly to the feelings of the composer.

The count's expression only elevated her playing. His face didn't read awe as most did when they heard the first movement. She could see he wasn't staring at her fingers, but rather at his hands which were gripping the lid of the piano. He seemed to be concentrating on something that wasn't physically in front of them. That was how she knew he was truly trying to understand the music presented before him, rather than let it wash over him in passivity.

When she finished, he didn't clap as people normally did, but slowly fixed his eyes on hers and a smile broke out across his face.

"Rachmaninov?" he inquired.

"Yes," she answered. "A genius, your grace. I hope more of his music will come to Paris."

"I agree," he said. "I must have a word with Reyer about more music coming to the opera house. What exquisite lines! And you play so beautifully."

She blushed, standing and bowing her head.

Just as he was about to say something, the door burst open and there was shouting from outside. Someone in dark clothes entered the room and her whole body froze in terror. The sound of the door and the figure before her reminded her so vividly of the night she had been injured in the jewelry store and she brought her hands to her face, muffling a cry of terror. She flew to the other side of the room, desperately trying to fling herself into the music library and shut the door. Just as she was about to do so, a strong pair of hands stopped her, comforting her and motioning that the figure in the room was simply Reyer who was dressed in his performance attire.

The count was standing in front of her, holding the door to the music library open with one hand and holding her waist with his other. A flood of embarrassment came over her and she tried to hide the tears that were threatening to spill over.

"I beg your pardon," she said, smoothing her skirts and stepping out of the library, trying to avoid Armel's confused gaze. The noise from outside of the room had been a flood of stagehands who had been dismissed for the day, joking and shouting at one another. She longed to sink into the floorboards beneath them and disappear to avoid their questions.

"Are you alright?" Armel asked. His words had been the first spoken to her for several weeks. There was still a strange tension between them since their argument last month and it was clear that she had been avoiding his company ever since.

"I'm fine," she said meekly. "I don't know what came over me. You frightened me half to death!"

Her accusation was only partially true and she felt dread for the harshness in her voice, but she did not want to admit to the true reason she had been terrified for fear of drawing attention to the result on her face. As she watched the two men exchange glances, she realized she couldn't bear to be in the room with either of them anymore. She quickly excused herself, gathering her music, and fled from the room. It was still several hours before her meeting with the opera ghost, but she had a dire need to be alone and the third cellar was the only thing that could come to her mind as a place of isolation. Even the chapel, meant for prayer and quietness, was often disturbed by ballerinas coming down for confession or a place to gossip in secret.

Her feet carried her into the depths of the opera house, descending down passages and endless stairways. The darkness didn't frighten her, but rather comforted her knowing she was beyond anyone being able to see her. When she reached the third cellar and entered the chaos of props and set pieces, she realized that she had not brought a lamp with her and threw her arms in front, so not to bump into anything. Normally, she would have been frightened of being in such a dark place by herself, but she knew that not a soul came down here alone.

When she reached the third cellar, she leaned against one of the walls and caught her breath, growing frustrated and flushed at her earlier behavior. To make everything worse, it had been Armel of all people who had frightened her. Suspicions would certainly be raised after catching her alone in the ensemble room with the count leaning so dangerously close to her on the piano lid. It was true that men like the count and his brother didn't marry women of rank such as Lisette, but Armel knew her better than anyone that she wouldn't get herself caught in something she didn't entice to be possible.

As these thoughts were running through her head, she realized that in her hurried exit, she had not bothered to bring a lamp, making the darkness more forbearing as she stood staring into the entrance into the cellar.

Her fingers ran across the wall, trying to make out the familiar entrance. When she did find it, she knew better than to enter without invitation as before and sat on the table in front of it, bringing her knees to her chest to try and keep out the chill. Despite how plain her dress was, it was a simple summer dress which she was regretting wearing despite knowing that the cellars were always much cooler than the stifling rooms above.

She wasn't sure how long she sat in silence. Twenty minutes? An hour? Two hours? She hummed tune after tune, trying to think through of how to approach the count next time she saw him or how to explain to Armel her strange reaction to his entrance. Here in the darkness, time didn't seem to matter and she flooded the emptiness with her thoughts to comfort herself. She was surprised to find that she wasn't frightened or nervous down here. Knowing that the opera ghost would be the only one she would find lurking around in the shadows far below the rest of the Palais Garnier gave her peace of mind and nothing out of the ordinary could surprise her after the encounters she'd already made.

Just as she was thinking this, she heard movement from behind the wall she was leaning upon. She immediately jumped down from the table, smoothing her skirts and making sure her hair was still neatly secured in its braid. She collected her music in her arms, holding it tightly to her chest as if protecting it, and waited patiently as she saw a glimmer of light appear in the crack just behind the wall. There was a barely audible "click," and the wall swung open, a figure emerging from behind.

"Fräulein," the figure said, bowing slightly.

"Herr Opera Ghost," she said, doing her best to curtsy with her music in her arms.

"You're early," he said, a biting tone in his voice.

"Better to be early than late," she replied, trying to hide the shakiness in her voice. The last thing she wanted was this strange man knowing she had been upset by something earlier. It seemed he was not the kind of man who liked to dally on other's emotions.

"Come," he said, turning into the emptiness behind him. "We have a lot of work to do and I run a very tight schedule around here. Follow me and please, watch your step."

She had to nearly jog to keep up with him as she entered the passageway, dodging lanterns and lamps which were low hanging on the walls. The opera ghost was tall and walked with ease among the close passages, almost snake-like, and she felt clumsy and foolish as she continuously tripped over cobblestones and was taken by surprise several times when he rapidly turned a corner and she was unsure of which way he went. She could tell his patience was waning as they made their way down a second flight of stairs from the way he paused every now and then to let her catch up. The entire journey to the depths of the opera house was made in silence and she studied the back of him closely whenever she was able to keep his pace.

 _What a strange man_ , she thought, unable to control what was flowing through her mind. She had a feeling that the few people who had encountered him had probably fled in fear from his dark expression and almost frightening, expressionless mask. Yet despite this, he carried himself as if he was a nobleman. He wore a dark, tailored suit with a long cloak trailing behind and wore stark white gloves like he was about to attend a performance among other socialites at the opera house. His hair was neatly slicked back, almost black in the dim light, with neatly trimmed sideburns and as he occasionally glanced over his shoulder to see her progress, she was taken aback by how bright his eyes were.

It wasn't until they reached a large basin of water did Lisette realize how far underground they were. She had heard rumors that beneath the cellars of the opera house there lay an underground lake, but she had always thought it to be a foolish rumor. However, now that she was fully aware of the opera ghost's existence, she wondered how many other rumors she'd heard could be proven true. The water lapped against the concrete edge of the basin, slipping over the side and wetting the tips of their shoes. She watched in confusion as the opera ghost stared over the lake, as if he was looking at something in the distance, and motioned him to follow as he turned sharply to his left and continued to walk along the edge of the water.

She dared not ask a question for fear of angering him. She was aware that she was entering a place where probably no one in the opera house had ever been by invitation and did not want to miss this opportunity of collaboration. Just as she was beginning to wonder if they would ever reach their destination, he held up a hand, causing her to stop, and revealed a small boat tied behind a large pillar. She watched him carefully as he put one foot in the boat and seemed to with an uneasy air, offer a gloved hand to her.

She stepped forward and ever so lightly touched the hand to balance herself as she stepped into the boat. As soon as they made contact, she couldn't help but notice that he seemed to cringe upon her touch and her heart began to hammer. She hardly ever gave physical contact with anyone for fear of reactions exactly as his. Although her face was the only part of her body that was scarred, it seemed to others that she was scarred all over and that she carried some kind of disease. Looking straight ahead, she did her best to put on a stony expression as she settled herself uneasily into the boat, gripping the sides for comfort as she did so. From the corner of her eye, she could see him untie the small vessel and with a long quant pole, he began pushing the boat through the water.

She looked in curiosity as they set out among the small "lake." She could see that the water was perhaps two or three meters deep as she peered over the side. This underground body of water was not long and it look a few long strokes from the opera ghost before they reached the other side.

In a swift motion, he leapt from the boat, tying it securely to another small pillar, before offering the other gloved hand to her. She made sure to keep her eyes on her feet as she stepped out of the boat, but she knew that their physical contact gave him the same reaction as before. With a few more steps, she couldn't help but let out a gasp before her.

It was a room set up similarly as the cellars above them, but the most beautiful organ she had ever seen lay in the middle of the room, surrounded by candelabras and lush furniture and dressings. It was a strange sight to see something so beautiful and grand in such a dismal place and she glanced at the opera ghost, who seemed to be watching her closely.

" _Ist das deins, Herr Operngeist_?" she inquired in German, too shocked to remember how to express herself in French. "Is this yours, Herr Opera Ghost?"

" _Ja_ ," he answered in the same language. "Yes."

"It's exquisite," she said breathlessly. "How did you come upon it?"

" _Ich habe es gabaut_ ," he replied. "I built it."

"You?" she cried, turning to face him. "My God… how? Where did you find the materials?"

He smirked at her question, as if it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "I have a way of always finding what I need, fräulein."

She continued to stare at the organ, feeling her fingers twitch at their neediness to try out the instrument. He motioned her forward, going to the edge of the instrument and removing his cloak. He kept his gloves on his hands, a strange decision, and she sat at the bench, staring at the keyboards with fascination.

"May I play?"

Her words seemed to escape her before she knew what she was saying. She heard him take a quick intake of breath, but was pleased when his shoulders relaxed slightly and he nodded.

"Do you know of Handel?" she asked, stretching her fingers and resting her feet on the pedals below.

"Yes," he answered softly. "Play the first tenor aria in _Messiah_."

Her eyes swam with delight. It had been years since she'd had the opportunity to play Handel's _Messiah_ and she was especially pleased to know that he was familiar with one of her favorite sections of the entire piece.

Her fingers found their position and began to play, emitting the haunting and unearthly sounds that seemed to echo all around them in the dark cellar.

The organ was perhaps the best she'd ever played. The stops were perfectly aligned, everything in proper working order, and the foot pedals were easy to the touch and able to be adjusted when needed. As she was finishing the brief introduction, her heart raced as she saw him straighten.

" _Comfort thee. Comfort thee, my people…_ "

His voice brought tears instantaneously to her eyes. Her fingers almost stopped from becoming so entranced. She had never heard a voice so pure. It was almost like a boy soprano's yet still developed with a manlike timbre. His vibrato was so faint that she wondered if she had ever been classically trained, but the way his range was able to stretch to the top of the staff made her realize that he was a master of the voice.

He did not look at her once while singing. Instead, he stared above her head, again, as if looking at something in the distance. His voice never broke nor faltered and his expression did not change during the entirety of the aria. When she clumsily improvised an ending before going into the next section, she couldn't help but choke back the tears which were threatening to spill at any moment and look at him intensely.

"Do I displease you?" he said after a moment of silence, glancing at her from the corner of his eye without breaking his stance.

"No, monsieur," she said, returning to French. "Quite the opposite."

The silence after her comment must have lasted for several minutes. He had backed away from the organ, but not in an unfriendly manner. He seemed to be studying her carefully as she cautiously took her hands off the keyboards and placed them in her lap.

"Let me hear my music," he said at last, thrusting a score of papers at her. Although she had a feeling he would never admit it, as she took the music and flicked through it, he had made all the edits she had suggested the last few weeks. She placed it on the instrument and began to play.

Performing in this space was unlike anything she had experienced before. The music swelled all around her and seemed to be enclosing her, yet far off in the galaxies, and also right by her ear, whispering its beautiful tones. She played for nearly ten minutes straight, concentrating hard and feeling sweat drip down her temples. At this moment, her hands were not her own. They belonged to God from the way they moved with such effortless technique. Her mind and body seemed to be in two different places: her mind somewhere in heaven and faraway while her body reminded her of the lowliness of earth. Yet despite this, she had never felt so in tune with herself. When she reached the last page she had been given, she was instantly reminded of where she was. When she looked up to see the opera ghost's reaction, she could swear she saw a glimmer of a tear in the side of his face covered by the mask, but he quickly went to her side, motioning for her to move off of the bench.

"Let me play that last passage for you," he said solemnly. She watched him peel of his gloves, revealing hands that were paler than her own. Her eyes followed his fingers as he played, wishing he would roll up his sleeves so she could see his wrists. There was no doubt that his playing was far more passionate than anything Lisette could ever wish to achieve. The chords seemed to ring like fire all around him and she all at once felt the depths of hell opening beneath her and yet heaven seemed to be crying out at the same time.

However, she was secretly pleased to discover that he was still struggling to find the proper technique. He played mostly from his fingertips, rather than using his wrists, arms, and shoulder as an anchor. She wondered how he didn't suffer from wrist pain from the tension she saw in his hands and gave a polite nod when he finished.

"So?" he asked, turning towards her, rolling his wrists.

"Your feeling of the music is exquisite," she said softly, blushing upon realizing how intensely she had been staring at him. "You understanding of this music is far more advanced than mine will ever be."

"That's not true," he scoffed coldly. "I only play it with such feeling because this is my soul, do you see? I understand it fully because _I_ wrote it. That does not take genius, fräulein. What takes genius is understanding how to put the composer's feelings into the music. You have achieved that quality while keeping your own intensity and outlook on the music."

She couldn't help but smile at his words. It was very rare she received a compliment she was truly appreciative of. Many who praised her works were simply amateur music appreciators who had little musical training and did not understand the depth of music she played. To be praised by this man meant that she was truly becoming a master of music and she couldn't help but let the feelings of praise sweep over her in a joyous celebration.

He didn't let the sense of accomplishment last for very long, however. "What are your critiques?" he asked, turning his attention back to the score in front of him.

"The score is perfect," she said, aware of how silly she sounded. She had bene lectured again and again in the Conservatoire about how music was never "perfect" and always in need of revising. But she was tired of nitpicking at a score which was brilliant in every sense of the word, especially after a performance by the composer himself. "Your technique is in need of some work."

He scowled at her response, putting his hands back on the keys and immediately beginning to play a fugue. "How so?"

"Your wrist," she said, motioning to his hands. "It has no movement whatsoever, thus creating an imbalance in the voices because all of your fingers are being weighed down in different ways."

He seemed taken aback by the proximity of her hand to his and held it to his chest, examining it closely before returning it to the keyboard.

"May I?" she asked, motioning to the seat next to the bench.

He nodded ever so slightly before she sat down, scooting the seat close enough that there was barely any distance between them. She felt him stiffen but ignored the reaction and played a simple chord progression on the lower keyboard.

"Do you see?" she said, nodding to her wrist. "Your fingers, wrist, arm, and shoulder are all one. For light patterns, it's delicate fingers, for legato phrases, you need a flexible wrist and great arm rotation. And for power…"

She began to play the beginning of the piece he'd given her, using her shoulders to demonstrate how to emit power through the entire ligament.

After finishing, she turned to him and he coughed lightly, his face turning red under the mask. His hands were on the keyboard, nearly shaking, and she could see his immense concentration. All at once, he began to play the fugue again, but this time his wrist was the one bearing the weight, not his fingers, and a dramatic difference was heard.

"Brilliant!" she cried, seeing a smirk twitch at his lips.

"As for the power," he said, turning to her, "There is enough power in my _Don Juan Triumphant_ to control a country. I am trying to find the balance of power and submission in my music."

"Then remind yourself to think of the sound coming from the wrist and the elbow," she said. "It will make even the most delicate music have passion."

They spent the next hour going back and forth. The opera ghost would ask her to play for him which he would critique her interpretation in return for her critique on his playing and any adjustments to new selections of music he'd been writing. She was fascinated with the way he seemed to have no trouble picking up on any suggestions she offered him. He was any teacher's ideal student: one that grabbed concepts quickly and had a clear understanding of the instrument. She was also flabbergasted by how his suggestions to her own playing greatly improved her musicality. He brought thoughts and ideas to her mind about the composer's intentions she had never considered and every comment or idea was purposeful and well thought out.

"A break, Herr Opera Ghost?" she begged at last, feeling her wrists growing stiff from the intense playing she'd been doing. "I have a performance tomorrow!"

She let out a breath when he nodded, standing and stretching his limbs. He moved quickly to another area of the cellar, hidden by a large, oriental curtain, before disappearing behind it. Alone, she looked around the room in which she'd been confined for the last hour. Just like the cellars above, the room was sectioned into different units by large, stone walls and pillars. It seemed that the opera ghost was using this as his residence from the vast amount of furniture, books, instruments, and rugs amid the floor. As she examined the instruments, she was surprised to find she did not recognize many of them. There was a solitary violin lying on a desk, but there was a strange, triangle-shaped instruments with strings running along it as well as a strange looking flute. Just as she was about to touch it, she heard a curtain snap behind her and she turned quickly, seeing a displeased look on the opera ghost's face.

"Do not touch anything, fräulein," he whispered solemnly, coming by her side and moving the flute so it was out of reach.

"What is it?" she asked, still trying to examine the instrument despite it having been moved.

"It's called a ney," he said, clearly annoyed with her question.

"A ney?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing together. "I've never heard of it…"

"It's not from the Western World," he said softly, turning the instrument over in his hands as if it was a delicate piece of glass.

"An exotic instrument!" she cried, delighted. "Where is it from?"

"You will learn in due time," he said, setting it down and turning to look at her. "I was pleased today with our lesson. We will continue to work together under the understanding that our meetings are to be secret and you are to tell _no one_ of what has happened here."

She gritted her teeth together, disliking his threat.

"I will only return if you tell me your name," she said. "I do not mean to offend you, but 'Herr Opera Ghost' makes you seem unhuman."

"Am I not unhuman?" he spat, fire flashing in his eyes as he took a few steps forward. His face was inches from her, looming above and his teeth seething as he spoke. "Living like a rat in the sewage, creating my poor, destructive music in the depths of hell! I have been rejected from humankind. They do not want me and I do not want _them_."

She kept her eyes steady, studying the portion of his face that was covered by the mask. She longed to know what it was that he was hiding from her, but no scar or strange deformation was evident. She felt her heart sink upon the thought of knowing that she might be the only person in Paris with a face that made strangers turn the other direction in fright.

"Your name, monsieur," she said in French, her tone flat and calm.

She was aware that her indifferent response had come as a shock, but he straightened and smoothed back his hair which had come undone in his haste.

"Erik," he said at last, as if the name was poison in his mouth.

"Monsieur Erik," she said, curtsying. "I shall look forward to our next meeting."

He helped her into the boat and took her across the large basin of water before leading her through the maze of passageways. She was surprised to find that when he revealed an opening in the wall that it didn't lead to the third cellar, but rather it led right to Carlotta's dressing room which was abandoned at the moment.

"When shall I see you again?" she asked, turning to face him.

"I will send for you," he said, staring at her intently. "For now, I need to think about our session today and spend some time on my own making improvements."

She nodded, stepping into the dressing room and glancing nervously at the door in fear of being caught.

"Do not forget what I said," he remarked darkly. "You are not to tell anyone of what has happened this evening. If so, you risk your entire career."

She swallowed nervously as he shut the opening of the passageway, revealed to be a mirror that was hanging on the wall. She stood in the same spot for several minutes, staring at her reflection and trying to hear if the opera ghost remained, but it was silent. A boisterous laugh from a stagehand finally encouraged her to leave, slipping away into the cool, Paris evening with his music secured tightly in her arms.

"Au revoir, Erik," she said under her breath as she nearly ran across the cobblestone streets, thinking brightly of the future that awaited them both at the official commitment of their partnership.

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	14. Falling

**Hope this chapter makes up for my absence the last couple of weeks. The writer's block has temporarily been cured and I hope to have more chapters coming up soon!**

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 _August, Paris 1880_

Two months had passed since Lisette's first lesson with the opera ghost. In those two months, they had met just four times, but she was thrilled to find that with each visit, more music of his opera was released to her. At this point, she had the entire first act of _Don Juan Triumphant_ edited and learned. During their last meeting, they had spent several hours rehearsing. He would sing and she would play late into the night, constantly stopping to take critique on her playing or making adjustments to the score. Whenever he sat at the organ, she was amazed and perplexed at how far his technique had come in just a few weeks. In no time, there would be no need for her to give him lessons anymore.

The summer had passed with little excitement within the opera house. Carlotta had continued to triumph in the role of Marguerite and Piangi had been contacted by several opera houses within France about performing guest recitals due to his success. There was still no official news of the retirement of the managers and Lisette was as impatient as ever for change to come to the Palais Garnier.

On this particular afternoon, she was sitting with Armel in the seats of the performance hall, listening to a rehearsal Reyer was having with just the violins and violas. It had been difficult for Armel and Lisette to come to their differences and forgive one another for the harsh words spoken in the spring. She had realized that there would always be a slight barrier between them and she did her best to carry on conversations without making her awkwardness evident.

"Have you heard that Madame Faivre is leaving?" Armel said, leaning closely to her ear as to not be heard by the other musicians who were spread about the cushioned seats.

Madame Amélie Faivre was the resident mezzo-soprano for the Paris Opera Company and had performed the role of Siébel for the last several months. Lisette was quite fond of the kind-hearted woman and sighed sadly at Armel's news.

"Why?" she asked, doing her best to lean away from his lips which were dangerously close to her ear.

"She's had a better offer in Vienne," he said softly. "We can't compete with the Austrians. They have the benefit of having one of the top conservatories in all of Europe."

"Trust me," she said with a small curve of her lips, "Audiences quickly grow bored watching Viennese productions. Paris has all the flamboyance that they lack.

"Is that what brought you to Paris?" Armel inquired with a teasing look in his eye.

"It was time for a change," she answered honestly. "Who will take her place?"

"No one knows," Armel replied, shifting in his seat so he could look at her more directly. "Reyer's been keeping the whole thing secret and Debienne and Poligny won't utter a word!"

Lisette crossed her arms, scanning the stage as many of the chorus members walked to and fro, silently practicing their staging for the section Reyer was currently rehearsing. She saw the young Daaé walking about and laughing with Meg who helped her with her pose. The vast majority of the chorus were young people who had studied voice at the Conservatoire but had never reached their prime. She wondered if Reyer would be bold enough to select someone from the chorus or would turn to outside the Palais Garnier for a replacement.

"Have you heard Mademoiselle Daaé sing yet?" she asked curiosly.

Armel shook his head. "But I did overhear a handful of ballerinas say they heard her practicing late one evening a few weeks ago. They said she sounded dreadful!"

Seeing the shocked expression on Lisette's face, he laughed heartily. "Now, don't go taking their opinions too seriously! You know these girls have no musical experience beyond their ballet rehearsals. But I have overheard as well that she took her father's death very well and her time at the Conservatoire was ill-spent."

"Such a shame," Lisette said quietly, feeling for the poor girl. Although alone in Paris, Lisette still had both of her parents waiting for her in Dresden. She even had three brothers living throughout Germany and was in constant comfort whenever she received a letter from home. She couldn't imagine not having anyone to lean upon in times of hardship.

As Reyer motioned for the orchestra to return to the stalls, she suddenly felt something uneasy come over her. It was as if a pair of eyes were watching her and she blushed at the thought. She glanced at Armel, but he was already making his way down to the stalls and the count wasn't present for he had made a brief return home to Chagny with the viscount until the fall began. She waited for a moment as the rest of the orchestra began to take their seats in the stalls, pretending to collect somethings into her rugsack. Once most were out of her line of vision, she briefly glanced up into Box Five. Although it was dark just as any other day, she couldn't help but smile briefly. Spending these last few weeks in the cellars of the opera house with Erik had taught her how to see where others couldn't. In the shadows, she was able to make out the faint silhouette of a hand resting on the edge of the banister. It was covered in a black, leather glove and the fingers were moving ever so lightly against the railing. Lisette recognized the motion and almost laughed. He was practicing even though there was no keyboard in front of him. She often spent most of her downtime in the opera house doing the same thing when she didn't have a piano available to her.

It was strange for him to be observing a rehearsal. Over the last several months, it was even rare for him to be seen at a performance now that the ensemble was comfortable performing _Faust_. She wondered if perhaps he had overheard the rumor Armel had shared about Madame Faivre and was here to inspect any potential among the young singers mingling about. She knew that she had not been impressed by the choir members and it was highly unlikely that Erik would disagree.

As she passed Box Five to return to the piano, she saw a brief movement from the corner of her eye, barely visible to anyone who wasn't looking in that direction. Erik had moved the gloved hand to his lips, as if to silence any recognition from her expression. She kept her eyes towards the back of Reyer's head and kept her pace steady, settling onto the piano bench. Reyer lifted his baton, and they rehearsed Act II, where the entire chorus was needed to give the impression of an entire village being on stage.

Lisette yearned she could be on stage for this scene. She had heard so many praises from audience members about how magical the set looked and how brilliantly the costumes stood out among it. As they delved nearly ten minutes into the act, she confirmed her guess on why Erik was present at this rehearsal. There were several small solos sung by chorus members and he was analyzing the female soloists, determining if any of them would be worth enough to play the role of Siébel. But the women's voices were lyrical sopranos, not mezzos, for the color was too bright. She looked forward to asking him his opinion at their upcoming lesson.

She had not learned much about Erik. Most questions about his personal life he did not answer and there had been several times when he had cut their lesson short because of it. She had learned quickly to instead talk of only music. If she had an inquiry about his opinion on a piece, a performance, or even a performer, she found he was always delighted and passionate to answer those questions. In time, she hoped he would grow comfortable to share some of his past with her, for she longed to know why he lurked among the opera house and kept his face hidden when it was clear it was not to conceal his identity.

When the rehearsal had ended and Reyer had dismissed the orchestra, Lisette turned to Box Five briefly to see if he was still there. She saw a movement in the back of the box and her heart sank realizing that he had left before she'd had a chance to talk with him. Their next lesson still wasn't for two more days and she was afraid she'd forget the details of tonight's rehearsal by then.

"Would you like me to walk you home?" Armel asked, his bassoon slung over his shoulder in a careless manner. "I'm visiting my uncle and he lives out your way."

"Oh, no thank you," she said, putting on a bright smile to hide her disappointment at Erik's rushed exit. "I am going to stay to practice."

Armel shook his head. "What do you have to practice? We've been performing _Faust_ for months now!"

"Solo repertoire," she answered. "I'm trying to see if I can earn a part time assistantship at the Conservatoire. Part of the admissions is through a recital and I can't tell you how long it's been since I've played music that wasn't meant for an orchestra or an accompaniment!"

Armel shrugged and walked with her to the ensemble room, where he stored his bassoon and left quietly as she immersed herself in the piano. She had chosen a series of fugues by Bach, etudes by Liszt, Mozart's _Sonata in D Major_ , and Rachmaninov's _Prelude in c sharp minor_. The decision to apply for the position had come across as something of a surprise for her. Earlier in July, she had been visiting the Conservatoire with Christine to reminisce about their days practicing in the basement of the building and spending countless hours awake in their dormitories studying music theory and history, when she had run into one of her former professors. Being polite, he had encouraged both of the young women to apply for the teaching assistant position, but she could tell that he meant it for Lisette from the way he kept eyeing her from the side. Armel had been the first person she had told about this desire of hers and she almost wanted to smack herself for saying anything. She was becoming so frustrated by his constant cross examining about her practice schedule that she blew her secrecy in order to gain some sanity back.

As she finished her session and the summer evening turned into a summer night, she closed the lid of the piano and headed towards the back entrance of the opera house. Just as she went to adjust her rugsack on her back, she groaned when her fingers only brushed the fabric of her dress. Realizing that she had left it in the orchestra stalls, she grabbed a small lamp from Carlotta's dressing room and made her way into the auditorium, completely abandoned, and groped about in the darkness.

The many props, set pieces, and curtains on stage made Lisette nervous as she held the lamp close to her body. There had been several incidences of a young ballerina wandering backstage at night and accidentally lighting something on fire because of her carelessness. However, holding the candle so close to her body was making it difficult to see where the stairs were that led to the stalls. Just as she was about to give up and go get a torch to light a lamp on the edge of the stage, she felt with horror that her right foot had found the edge of the stage and had slipped off, sending her tumbling into the stalls.

She let out a cry of fright, watching the lamp fall from her hand and onto Reyer's podium, where the oil spilt onto the floor as the glass encasing broke. She closed her eyes, expecting any moment to feel the pain of hitting the chairs and music stands below, but instead she landed with a clatter of sounds on top of something sturdy.

She instinctively stood up, rushing to the lamp where she stomped out the flames, panting for breath when they finally succumbed. Her hair had fallen out of its braid, cascading down her back in straight, blonde wisps and she buried her head in her hands to calm herself.

"Are you alright?"

She whipped around, surprised to find that what she had landed on had been a _man_. She blushed in embarrassment and was thankful they were immersed in darkness so he could not see her face.

"I'm fine," she said, beginning to make her way to the stairs, when the sight of something white made her stop.

"Erik?" she asked in disbelief. In the nearly two months they'd been acquainted, she'd never seen him venture outside of the many passageways he used to travel around the Palais Garnier. There were several times where she had left the opera house at midnight and there was no one lurking around. But here he was, standing in a plain white shirt, dark pants, boots, and his black hair tousled in his face which was normally so tidy.

"Why are you wandering around the stage at this hour, fräulein?" he asked softly, dusting wood shavings from his pants.

"I believe you know the answer to that," she said coolly, sweeping her hair into a side braid. "I left my rugsack here in the stalls. I'm not used to it being so dark."

She realized with embarrassment that her defensiveness and temper were getting the best of her. She was so reluctant to be grateful for other people's help in her foolishness and hung her head in shame, as if wishing she could sink into the floor.

"I beg your pardon," she said at last, looking up into his bright eyes. "Thank you. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't of broken my fall."

"You're lucky I happened to be down here," he said, a smile in his voice. "I barely made it in time."

"What were _you_ doing here?" she asked. "It's not like you to be wandering around in the open."

He let out a hearty laugh which startled her. "Fräulein, we _are_ the only ones in the opera house."

She couldn't help but feel a shiver go up her spine at his words. She knew that she had nothing to fear with Erik around due to discovering that his bark was much worse than his bite, but there was something always mysterious lurking around him that made her consistently look over her shoulder every time she was in his cellar.

"I actually came to investigate," he said, his brow furrowing.

"Investigate?" she questioned, stepping nearer.

He sat in one of the nearby chairs, running his left hand over his mask absentmindedly. "There was a voice at today's rehearsal that showed great potential. However, due to my positioning and the clatter of noise coming from the orchestra, I was unable to track who it was."

She raised an eyebrow. His comment had surprised her greatly. She had not been impressed with any of the soloists and she had never been classically trained as a vocalist.

"I was unimpressed with the soloists," she said through stiff lips. "Where did the voice come from?"

"It wasn't a soloist," he answered with narrow eyes, looking her way. "It came from the chorus. It was a young girl's voice… I've never heard it before."

Lisette's thoughts instantly flew to Christine. It had only been within the last month that she had been actively become part of the chorus so it was no surprise that Erik had not had a chance to hear her yet.

"Are you speaking of Mademoiselle Daaé?" she inquired, sitting down across from him.

He glanced at her but did not turn. "Daaé?"

She nodded. "She just arrived at the opera house a few months prior. She studied at the Conservatoire but I don't know much about her musicianship."

He smirked. "Apparently no one else does as well."

"Do you think she's the one to play Siébel?" Lisette asked.

"I do," Erik answered confidently, turning to face her at last. "She needs quite some work, but the part of Siébel is not challenging and would be a good introductory role to the stage."

"When did you start casting roles for the managers?" Lisette said teasingly.

"I always cast the roles," he said with a small smile. "They just don't realize it."

"So you've been casting Carlotta the entire time?"

His smile instantly fell from his face. She was aware she had touched a sore subject but did not feel sorry for helping deflate his ego.

"That is a battle which is still yet to be fought," he murmured. "All in due time. I'm happy to say that the orchestra is the finest it's been in years."

Lisette smiled at the compliment, unable to stop herself.

"Meet me in the third cellar tomorrow evening," Erik said after a few moments of silence passed, standing up abruptly. "And no lessons this time. I have some new music I'd like to show you and I fear that my technique is becoming almost as advanced as yours."

She frowned. It wasn't the idea of seeing him which displeased her, but the idea that he was on the brink of surpassing her skill. At least if he discontinued lessons she wouldn't be the one responsible if she found she had another true competitor right here within the Palais Garnier.

"Where are you going?" she asked, watching him effortlessly leap over the side of the stalls and into the auditorium.

"To practice," he said with a strange twitch on his lips. "That's what you do at hours like these, isn't it?"

She watched him disappear into the shadows like a ghost and pouted her lip, thinking of all the things she wished she could say to insult him and praise him all at the same time.

* * *

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	15. Suspicions

**Hi all! I know it's been a few weeks but hey, no excuses, that's just life. I'm excited to say that in my summer music classes my seventh and eighth graders chose to watch POTO as their "choice activity" for good behavior so I am PUMPED. Hopefully that will help motivate me to write some more chapters!**

* * *

 _August, Paris 1880_

The following day, Lisette sat in the ensemble room, watching as Erik paced back and forth, muttering under his breath as he clutched the score to _Don Juan Triumphant_ in his hands. It was nearly midnight and she could swear that the only sound in Paris at the moment were his muffled footsteps against the rugs laid upon the floor.

"You'll figure it out," she said with assurance, resting an elbow on the lid of the piano. "It's just a bit of writer's block, Erik. Everyone gets it every now and then!"

"Well I don't," he growled menacingly. "Nothing sounds right! I can feel the music boiling up inside of me but I can't seem to put it onto paper."

"Erik," Lisette remarked with exasperation, standing. "Stop and give yourself some rest. You've been slaving away at this for months. You need some time to focus on other things. It's no wonder you're not able to write any more music!"

He sat in a nearby chair, letting his head sink into his hands.

He had surprised her that evening by meeting her in the ensemble room nearly an hour before their rendezvous. It was Saturday night and no one was present after the astounding performance given that evening. Still, Erik was always careful about moving in the open around the Palais Garnier and she was shocked to find him so at ease being in such a popular room of the opera house.

He was wearing a suit, the jacket draped over the piano bench and his gloves laying nearby Lisette's elbow, abandoned the minute he had begun to play the piano. She was amazed how finely he always dressed and how no suit was like the other. He had commented to her that he always preferred to be dressed for any performance he may encounter, but she suspected that his elaborate appearance was to distract from the mask upon his face. He seemed to have come straight from Box Five and she wondered about

There had been several times when they had been together where she had been tempted to rip the forsaken thing off. She was curious to know why he kept his face hidden but she never dared asked. There were several instances in their lessons and sessions together when they had gotten into fierce arguments over differing opinions and that alone had almost ended their collaboration. If they disagreed over the tempo over a simple Bach fugue, what would his reaction be if she inquired about the one thing he never dared mention?

"I have no muse," he cried, throwing his hands in the air and standing once more. "Being locked up all the time within the same four walls prevents me from experiencing new things, seeing new people…"

She bit her tongue from letting a sarcastic remark escape her lips.

"Why don't you leave?" she asked, immediately regretting the question. His eyes flickered in a strange way when she spoke and he instantly shrunk away, hiding the masked side of his face.

"I believe there is an obvious answer, fräulein," he said bitterly, bringing a hand to his cheek.

"The mask is a bit of a shock," she answered honestly. "But there are other ways to hide your face in public if you do not wish people to know your identity."

"You think I'm trying to hide my identity?" he laughed, his eyes growing large.

She looked away, refusing to answer with his demeaning expression. She sat at the piano and began to play the beginning of the Second Act of _Faust_ , trying to clear her mind from the frustration she seemed to encounter any time they discussed anything other than music.

"I'm not," he answered at last, coming to her side. She stopped playing in surprise, amazed by his close proximity.

"Then what is it?" she demanded, turning back to him and looking him straight in the eye. In all of her time knowing Erik, this may have been the only time she had been so close to him that she could actually read the emotion in his eyes.

What surprised her was that she saw fear.

With no words, he motioned to her to sit on a nearby stool. He disappeared into a nearby cabinet, searching for something, before coming back with a large, black case.

"This is called a ney," he said, pulling a large flute from the case. It was long, nearly a meter in length, and had a strange, black mouthpiece. There were holes carved in the front and sides and she watched in excitement as he sat on a nearby chair and brought it to his lips.

The music that came from the instrument was unlike anything she'd heard before. Everything she thought she knew about Erik changed dramatically in that instant. The timbre of the ney was earthly, haunting, and seemed to embody the opera ghost's character in every note. He was playing in a mode she was unfamiliar with and tried to guess where the music originated from. She had never heard anything like it in her Western classical training and felt herself lean her cheek into her hand on the piano as he finished.

"A ney?" she asked slowly, reaching out to touch the flute. "Where does it come from? Where did you learn?"

"I spent many years in Persia," Erik said quietly, handing the instrument to her to study. "I spent most of my time studying architecture but took as many music lessons as I could."

"What is it made out of?" she inquired, turning over the instrument in her hands.

"Bamboo," he answered softly. "I carved it myself."

"You made this?" she stammered, nearly dropping it as she glanced up at him.

"I didn't have much of a choice," he replied, a strange sadness in his eyes as he took the flute from her. "It's nearly impossible to buy one at a reasonable price and the materials were so abundant that I learned myself."

She stared at him in wonder, her mouth slightly parted.

"I'm sure you're wondering how I ended up in Persia?" he said.

"It's none of my business," she said, collecting herself as she sat back and smoothed her dress. "You have not asked much about myself so it feels strange to pry into your affairs."

A sudden change seemed to come over Erik. Her remark seemed to have startled him and he stood, bringing the flute to his lips and playing once more. The music swelled around her, almost as if it reached to the heavens yet was still just whispering in her ear. Her eyes followed him in awe as he moved away and went to the window, staring at the bleak, rainy night.

"I know more about you than you think, fräulein," he said when he set the instrument back in its case.

Her heart began to pound in her chest and she closed the lid to the keys of the piano, standing to fully face him. He looked dismal and frightening from the way he was staring in the distance, the ney case clutched in his left hand and the eye beneath the mask flicking around as if searching for something.

"What is there to know?" she said, smoothing her hair.

"I know you were born in Leipzig and trained on the keyboard at an early age," Erik said, hiding a smile between his thin lips. "I know you have intentions to work in a conservatory as a woman teacher and that you studied at the conservatories in both Dresden and here in Paris. I know you speak German and French fluently and are trying to learn English to aid you in your ambitions in becoming a teacher."

She couldn't help but feel a smile crossing her face, despite the fact that she should be angry for having him know so much.

"If you know so much about myself, why shouldn't I know more about you?" she asked, closing the distance between them so they were standing straight in front of one another.

Erik opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly she felt his hand wrap around her arm, pulling her into the protection of heavy curtains near the window.

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes wide as she tried to peer into the open ensemble room.

"I'm a bloody fool," he muttered, shaking his head. "Don't move. Someone's coming."

They shrank further back into the shadows of the curtain, Lisette feeling Erik's backside pressed against her front, a hand protectively pinning her against the wall.

The door to the ensemble room creaked open, just as Erik had predicted. Lisette didn't understand Erik's strange behavior. It was normal for orchestra members to visit the room late at night to retrieve their instruments or look through the music library. Erik was acting as if an intruder was coming into the room and she couldn't pinpoint the wild, animal-like hatred in his eyes.

Unable to see who had entered the room, she listened as she heard heavy foot steps creak across the room. A clatter of chords from the piano startled her, making her jump and ruffle the curtains. Erik pressed against her, almost pinning her to the wall so she was unable to move.

"Who's there?"

Lisette recognized the gruff voice instantly, relieved to know that it wasn't an intruder, simply Joseph Buquet. He came into the ensemble room every once and a while to retrieve old rope and pulleys that were stored in the library. She made a move to reveal herself, but Erik fought against her, shaking his head.

"If I don't show myself, it'll look very suspicious!" she hissed, moving his arm out of the way.

"I beg your pardon, monsieur," she said, stepping out from the curtain. "You frightened me! I am not used to people coming into the ensemble room at this hour."

Buquet was standing near the piano, slicking his hair back and doing his best to smooth his beard which was covered in crumbs. She didn't like the way in which his hands had quickly removed themselves from the music on the piano stand, as if he had been caught doing something.

"You're the only one here?" Buquet asked, seeming to read the lie on Lisette's face as she spoke.

"Yes," she said, doing her best to keep a pleasant expression. "Like I said, I'm used to other people coming here so late at night!"

"I heard voices," he said gruffly, moving to inspect behind the harp leaning against the nearby wall. "And one of them certainly wasn't yours."

"Perhaps you've been hearing the opera ghost," Lisette said teasingly, her eyes sparkling at the irony of her comment.

She seemed to have pushed a wrong button with Buquet, for he lunged at her, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"I wouldn't tease about the opera ghost," Buquet muttered menacingly, bringing his face just inches from hers. She could smell stale wine on his breath and did her best not to wrinkle up her nose in disgust. "He tends to roam around this time of night. I've seen him before, and he's just waiting for the opportunity to catch someone unsuspecting like _you_ off guard."

"I can take care of myself, thank you, monsieur," she remarked, shrugging his hands off of her. She saw the curtains where Erik remained in hiding ruffle and prayed Buquet hadn't seen the disturbance. He seemed blind, however, as he looked hurt from Lisette moving away from him and straightened his vest, clearing his throat as he did so.

"Why are you here, monsieur?" she asked, bringing her eyebrows together in a disapproving manner. "And don't tell me it was to receive rope from the library because that is clearly not want your intention was being here."

Buquet's face reddened at being caught and Lisette could've sworn she heard a slight chuckle come from the curtain behind her. The large man opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish, as if trying to think of what to say, before running a hand through his beard and shuffling his feet back towards the door that led towards the hallway.

"I have great suspicions that the opera ghost has been lurking about in this area of the opera house," Buquet whispered, barely audible. "If I find out you have anything to do with it, I'll have no choice but to turn you over to the authorities for being an accomplice."

With that final statement, he left the room, the door shutting behind him with a bang. Erik emerged from behind the curtains, a grave look on his face as he came to Lisette's side who was still staring in the direction that Buquet had left.

"Are you alright?" Erik asked after a moment.

"Oh," she said turning, as if forgetting Erik had even been there, "Yes, I'm fine. Buquet and I have been at odds with each other for a few weeks now and something like this was bound to happen eventually."

"I don't like what he was up to," Erik remarked with narrow eyes.

"What was he doing?" she asked. "I wasn't able to see over your shoulder."

"He was looking through my scores," he said darkly, rushing forward to take them from the music stand. "I fear he's seen too much."

"What could he possibly have seen?" she said, following him with her eyebrows knitted together. "Your name is nowhere on those documents. If anything, he probably assumed their mine."

"He's suspicious," Erik muttered, turning to Lisette with a grave expression. "I'd warn you to watch yourself around the opera house. Be very careful upon coming to meet me for our lessons. I have the sense that he will try to follow you."

"Buquet's never frightened me," Lisette remarked with a sense of defiance, but she couldn't help but feel a strange twist in her stomach at the way he had looked at her when she had revealed herself from behind the curtain. She knew that Erik's inclinations towards Buquet were more than likely correct and she felt herself take a step closer towards him, as if his close presence would comfort her.

"I must get back," Erik said softly, wrapping his long cloak around his shoulders. "If Monsieur Buquet has been in here once this evening, I'll have no doubt he'll return again unless you make it evident you've left."

She felt her shoulders droop slightly in disappointment at his words, but kept her face steady as she collected her music.

"When shall I see you again?" she asked as she moved towards the dor to the hallway.

"It might be best to keep our next meeting at bay," Erik said, pressing his ear against the door where she stood, listening for any movement outside. "Let's wait until Buquet's suspicions are lessened."

This time she could not hide her disappointment and she saw a strange look come over Erik's uncovered half of his face.

"I will continue to send you music," he said assuringly. "Don't fret, fräulein, the separation shall not be for very long. Until then, I have other matters that I can attend to."

She knew better than to wait for him to leave first so she nodded slightly before opening the door and heading into the hallway. As she felt the plush carpet soften her footsteps, she couldn't help but continue to glance over her shoulder as she made her way to the back entrance, as if Buquet might be waiting to jump out and surprise her. But she remained alone in her journey to leave the opera house and walked down the streets of Paris with a sense of uneasiness in Erik's manner towards Buquet's intrusion. While she had always though Buquet stupid and foolish, she had never truly considered him a threat.

As she settled into bed that night, she closed her eyes with a sense of dread at the months to come. She couldn't explain the strange feeling that sat in the pit of her stomach, but she knew Erik was brewing something that was sure to turn the Palais Garnier upside down.

* * *

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	16. The Invitation

November, Paris 1880

Autumn has been a short season this particular year. September was spent swamped in rain, October with frightfully chilly winds, and November had arrived with a thin layer of snow already on the ground halfway through the month. While the opera house continued to work on ballets, solo performances, and Christmas concerts with the orchestra for the upcoming holiday season, _Faust_ was still being performed in its prime despite the lack of a mezzo-soprano to fill the role of Siébel..

They had temporarily hired a young woman from Marseilles whose contract was to expire today. She had seemed to mend the tense bond between Carlotta and the managers who were quickly showing that retirement was coming closer and closer, but everyone was anxious to see who would fill the position permanently until their closing performance in the New Year.

Lisette had spent the autumn preparing her audition for the teaching position at the Conservatoire. Erik had been reluctant to help her prepare, knowing that if the position was offered to her that her time spent at the opera house would decrease drastically. She knew he was only upset about the position because it meant it would slow down his writing process of his opera, not because of any special bond between them.

Erik was still as mysterious to her as he was over the summer. While new pages of music were constantly appearing around her, she still didn't know anything about where he was trained as a musician, how he could speak German so fluently, or why he wore the strange mask on his face. Their rendezvouses were becoming increasingly less frequent with her audition being so close and the last several weeks had been especially lonely, barely hearing a sound from him as she practiced late into the night with only the sound of the wind howling outside to keep her company.

The orchestra had come together for a rehearsal in the ensemble room to practice with the leading vocalists. Carlotta, Piangi, and Monsieur Balanqué were all expected to attend, but everyone was growing anxious with the news of who would be announced as the new Siébel at tomorrow's run through. Lisette was settled at the piano, deeply examining the ending of Act III which was to be rehearsed into the beginning of Act IV. What she longed was to be playing Erik's music which was beneath her in the piano bench, but she grit her teeth as Carlotta entered into the room, her large skirts swaying around her and a small dog nestled in her arms.

Lisette always wondered how Carlotta could even sing with how tightly her corsets were always bound and how stiff her lips looked when she was judging other people. The grand prima donna settled herself into the chair nearest Reyer, stroking her dog all the while keeping eye contact with the primo cellist, as if to remind him that if anything went wrong during today's rehearsal, it would end his time at the Palais Garnier. Lisette made sure to avoid any eye contact. Despite the fact that it had been months since their head to head face off in rehearsal and spiders appearing in Carlotta's wig, the two women still held an unacknowledged tension between them.

An hour into the rehearsal, Lisette was nearly falling asleep at the keyboard while Reyer rehearsed Marguerite's ballad once more. Piangi, unable to find anything wrong with his darling soprano, grew frustrated at Reyer as Carlotta continued to whine about her missed entrances being the fault of his conducting. Monsieur Balanque, on the other hand, kept giving sympathetic glances to the first violins as Carlotta continued to pace around the room, nearly whacking the players on the end with her hands. It wasn't until the door to the ensemble room opened, giving the room a momentary pause of relief when the Comte de Changy, his brother, and Debienne walked in.

"Monsieurs," Reyer said, lowering his baton, clearly annoyed that his rehearsal was being disturbed even more.

"Maestro," Debienne answered, his chest puffed out proudly. "Ladies and gentlemen, we do not mean to disturb your rehearsal, but we are here to formally welcome the Comte and Vicomte de Chagny as our patrons for the opera house this season."

The orchestra broke out in polite applause, although it was clear from most of the members that they were also clearly annoyed from the disruption. The only person who seemed genuine in their praise was Debienne and Lisette who had her eyes fixed upon the count.

Philippe smiled broadly, his hair seemingly longer since the last time she saw him but she liked the way it was parted and combed against his head. She couldn't help but admire him in his fine clothes, standing out like a true gentleman compared to Debienne and his imitational clothing.

"We won't disturb your rehearsal," Debienne continued, nodding to Reyer. "We have just come to listen and watch."

Lisette tried not to blush thinking about the count being in rehearsal to watch her play. She brought a hand absentmindedly to her face, wondering if she had put on enough powder that morning. Carlotta seemed especially pleased that they would be watching the rehearsal, being sure to smile brightly at them and flaunting her dress from side to side.

Lisette's heart began to race as the three gentlemen took seats close to the piano. As the count sat, he gave her a small wink, making her heart jump and her hands grow sweaty. She had to concentrate twice as hard when Reyer had them begin Marguerite's ballad once more with both Carlotta's strange tempos and Philippe watching her every move.

When rehearsal concluded, Lisette was feeling elated. Despite feeling nervous, she had played as well as she could, with not a single mistake. The orchestra began to leave and as she began to pack up her things as well, she was delighted to see the count make his way towards her. She could see Armel glance at her on his way out the door, but she didn't care. If anything, this was proving his opinion wrong about her relationship with the count.

"Quite an extraordinary performance," the count complimented as Lisette slung her rugsack over her arm.

"I don't know if I'd call it extraordinary," Lisette said with a half smile, "But it was certainly better than some of the other performances we've had the last several weeks."

The viscount stood behind them, looking obviously bored as his hands were buried deep in his pockets and he whistled a strange tune. Philippe gave his brother a hard stare before turning back to Lisette, a pleasant expression on his face.

"Are you here for the winter, then?" Lisette asked them both as they exited the ensemble room.

"Yes," the count answered happily, offering his arm to her as they descended the stairs to backstage. "We just arrived this morning and are settling in quite happily. We decided to stop by and get an update of how the season has been going with our absence."

"Everything's been quite normal," Lisette replied, determined to continue the conversation further before they reached the stage where they were sure to be greeted by dozens of flirtatious ballerinas and chorus members. "What are your plans while you're in Paris?"

The viscount puffed out his chest as they entered the hallway that connected the different dressing rooms to one another. "We'll be investing our time here," Raoul said, coming to Lisette's other side. "We believe the opera house can be run more efficiently."

"Efficiently?" Lisette asked, surprised. In her three years at the opera house, she had yet to hear those very words be uttered from either Debienne or Poligny's mouth.

"What my brother means to say," Philippe said with a narrowed gaze to the viscount, "Is that we hope to improve the revenue for the opera house. It seems that with the productions being so drawn out, there is little chance of attracting new audiences."

Lisette was discouraged by his statement. "I disagree, your grace," she said, pausing at the entrance to the Grand Stairway. "I don't think the productions need to be changed more often. I think there needs to be rotations in the cast and orchestra members."

The count was clearly intrigued by her response but kept a straight face as a mob of orchestra members passed by them, anxiously heading home after a long day of rehearsal.

"Mademoiselle Geiger," the count said, running his hands through his hair. "My brother and I are having a housewarming party at our house this Friday evening. We were hoping that yourself along with Mademoiselles Giry and Sorelli would be willing to join us?"

Lisette could feel her heart leaping into her chest. Invited to a count's home? As a guest to a party? She quickly brought a hand to her face, hoping that the blush that was reddening her cheeks wasn't reddening her scar as well.

"I-I'd be delighted," she stammered, a silly smile on her face.

"Excellent," the count said, straightening his jacket. "You may ask Madame Giry for the address. We will be looking forward to having you!"

The two men strolled off, the viscount obviously pleased to be leaving. She watched after them, not tearing her eyes away until the doors from the outside swung shut, leaving a variety of leaves, twigs, and stray pieces of paper on the stone floor. Once again, the opera house was fading into nighttime. While Lisette wanted to leave and go home, she had a strange feeling that Erik was nearby.

"Erik?" she whispered, ducking back into the hallway where the dressing rooms remained. There was nothing but silence that greeted her and she immediately felt like a fool for thinking that he might be nearby. While it was true that Erik spent all of his time in the opera house, there was little chance that he would be expecting to meet her of all people with so much to do with writing his opera. Lisette suspected her that she had seen so little of him because of the pace he was writing his opera. At the beginning of their partnership, she only been given one page every couple of weeks or so, but now there seemed to be at least three to five pages stored in the piano bench when she checked it late at night. She turned around to go back towards the front door, when she heard something move behind her.

She whipped around, only to find Erik shutting the door to Carlotta's dressing room. When he faced her, she could only make out the shape of his white mask in the half darkness and did her best to compose herself seeing where he had come from.

"Not up to any mischief, I hope?" she asked, watching him curiously as he ran a hand through his dark hair.

"Nothing that you should be concerned about," he answered matter-of-factly. "Come, I have something I want to discuss with you."

He nodded towards the other end of the hallway and she followed him without a second thought, her heart racing. He seemed to be in a grave mood from the way he was walking at such a quick pace that she was nearly jogging to keep up with him. They reached backstage and he paused at one of the hanging flats, watching it swing gently from side to side. The rest of the large backdrops hung menacingly above them and she took a step backwards, as if afraid Erik would summon one to drop on their heads!

He gently pushed the flat to the side, revealing a small crack in the brick just like the one in the third cellar.

"May I?" Lisette asked. He nodded slightly and she pressed against the crack, feeling the brick give way and was surprised to see a set of stairs leading up rather than down. He ushered her inside, before leading the way to the top, revealing another small wooden door which he opened quietly and slipped inside. When he shut the door behind her, she was pleasantly surprised to find they were in the room where she had been months before after her daring confrontation with Carlotta in front of the entire cast and orchestra. The pulley system to the chandelier hanging below acted almost as a barrier between Erik and her, creating enough space between them that she felt she could study him without fear of being noticed.

He was pacing excitedly back and forth, his gloved hands being wrung together underneath his cloak. She wondered if he had reached another block in his creative process, but when he turned towards her, his green eyes narrowed, she could tell this wasn't the case at all.

"The fools," he muttered, coming to a standstill where the rope from the pulley descended into the auditorium.

"Who are you talking about this time?" she asked, only half joking. She was in constant agreement with Erik with his comments of the many people who should not be in their current positions within the opera house.

"Bringing in those two men from high society," he scoffed. "They are not interested in art or music. The only things those two are interested in are galas hosted by Debienne and Poligny and pretty ballerinas."

"That's not true," Lisette replied defensively, thinking of all the times the count had gone out of his way to show his genuine interest in the orchestra. "They may not be musical beings but they are certainly appreciative of it. How dare you judge them before you have even a chance to know them!"

Erik looked at her with amusement on the uncovered part of his face. "My, my," he said softly, "They've even lured _you_ , Fräulein Geiger."

She was taken aback by his statement. To hear such an accusation from Armel meant nothing to her, but to hear it from the man she respected the most was enough to bring tears to her eyes. "I don't know what you mean," she replied hurriedly, unsure of what else to say.

"You musn't go to their house," he said, closing the distance between them. Lisette suddenly felt very aware of how small the room was now that he was standing right next to her. She also hadn't realized how _tall_ he was, looming over her like the large statues in many of the Parisian squares. The uncovered side of his face was quite sober, staring at her intently with the corners of his mouth pulled tight.

"You musn't tell me what to do," Lisette replied quickly, her voice dangerously low. She held her head tall and had her fists clenched at her sides, feeling her fingernails digging into her palms.

"It's all part of their game," Erik said, taking her arm and pulling her towards the opening which showed the auditorium below. "They know the potential you have, Lisette, and understand that if a better offer were to come available at the Conservatoire or even at another opera house, they could lose you. Inviting you to this party is merely to compliment you and woo you into remaining in their employment."

She frowned, staring intently at the darkened chandelier below before turning to Erik. "The count is a much more understanding man that you give him credit to be."

Erik laughed, one that was frightening and too loud for his normally demure behavior. "Understanding? Do you think that just because the Comte de Chagny pays attention to you that he understands you? No. You are merely an asset to the success of the opera house. Nothing more."

His words stung. Lisette turned and faced the wall, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill over at any moment. When she felt a tear slide down her cheek, she wiped it away, only to be disgusted seeing a trail of powder on her sleeve, leaving the left side of her face completely exposed.

" _Verlasse mich_ ," she said softly. "Leave me."

Even though her back was to him, she could change that Erik's demeanor suddenly changed drastically. "Lisette," he said, a single glove being placed on her shoulder. If she hadn't of been so upset by his previous words, she may have been shocked to see he was giving any type of physical touch to her, but instead she simply shrugged it off and moved towards the door.

" _Vergib mir_ ," he said, stepping towards her. "Forgive me."

" _Fassen Sie mich nicht an_!" she exclaimed, "Don't touch me!" She turned to look at him with ice in her stare, continuing to talk in her native language. "Your words hurt, Erik. You are not the only person in this opera house who has opinions about how the company should be run. The more quickly you learn this the better off you will be!"

She opened the door, shutting it and running backstage. She didn't seem to stop moving until she was in her apartment, the door slamming shut behind her and sinking to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

There was a full moon tonight and the wind from the day had left her apartment unbearably cold. She was only able to sit on the floor for a few moments before she lit a fire in the wooden stove in her kitchen, grateful to get some feeling back into her fingers. After changing into a warm nightgown and letting her hair loose of its braid, she moved to the windows which overlooked the city. In the glass that stretched up to her ceiling, the moon shone brightly down, illuminating the soft highlights in her blonde hair and accentuating the scar on her face. As she looked at the buildings whose lights were slowly going on one by one in their windows, she couldn't get the image of Erik's cold stare out of her mind.

She was still angry with him for what he said, however, it felt strange to disagree with him on such a large scale. He had proven again and again that his intuition was correct when it came to matters in the Palais Garnier and she felt that despite what she wanted to think, he truly knew the intentions of the Comte and Vicomte de Chagny better than she.

As she climbed into bed, wrapping the blankets tightly around her, she decided that she would go to the count's housewarming party after all. How bad could it be if Meg and Sorelli would be there beside her? She was determined to prove that the Opera Ghost wasn't always right about everything. If he could ever learn to trust other people, perhaps there was a chance he could exist outside of his secluded lifestyle.

A simple melody suddenly filled her mind as she began to drift off into sleep. She did her best to try and see if she could notate it in her mind before succumbing to sleep, but the exhaustion from the day was too much and quickly overwhelmed her.

* * *

 **I'm back after a long pause from this story! I can't promise the uploads will be weekly, but I'm going to do my best to get this guy rolling again. :)**


	17. The Party

_November, Paris 1880_

Lisette felt rather foolish standing in front of the mirror in the ballerinas' dormitories, running her hands over the smooth fabric of her dress. The moment she had extended the count's invitation to Meg and Sorelli, the two had been in a fuss about what they would wear for nearly the entire week. It was the day of the gathering at the count's house and when Lisette had shown up to the Palais Garnier wearing her usual gray dress, Meg had thrown a fit and insisted they use one of the ball gowns stored in the costume department.

"Nobody will mind," Meg had assured her as she took a large, green dress off of one of the racks. "In fact, they probably won't even know it's gone missing!"

Lisette felt her stomach twist up in knots as she stared at her reflection. She hardly recognized the girl staring back! The dress Meg had selected was a dark, forest green dress. The sleeves stopped just past her shoulders, emphasized with a lace collar, and a collection of red silk flowers gathered at her bosom to join the piece together at the neckline. The skirt expanded at her waist, draping into elegant layers of velvet completed with long, dark green gloves that rose all the way above her elbows. She had insisted her hair remained braided, but Sorelli had twisted it into a bun at the nape of her neck instead of her usual milkmaid braids. It was a shocking sight to see, and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

The strangest thing to her was that there was no scar on her face. Lisette had no idea the amount of skill Sorelli had with a makeup brush, but after a few moments of applying heavy concealer and blush, the scar had all but faded into a barely noticeable crevice across her face. She felt the girl she had been first entering the Conservatoire, empowered and excited to begin her career as a musician.

She was still no match for Sorelli and Meg. Sorelli's muscular frame accentuated her gold dress extremely well, down to the long sleeves which seemed to bring out every muscle in her arms. Meg's dress was cut very low at the neckline and her blonde hair was piled into large curls on top of her head. Despite the beautiful companions that would escort her to the housewarming party, Lisette still felt like she was walking out of her own body and stepped into someone else's shoes.

The three women were driven to the count's house in the carriage kept at the opera house. The beautiful, black horses kept in the opera house's stables even seemed excited at the prospect their travelers were going to a party from the speed in which their simple carriage was pulled throughout the streets of Paris.

As the many street lamps whizzed by her windows, she couldn't help but reminisce about what Leipzig had looked like this time of year when she was a child. She remembered the thick snow falling outside of her window onto the cobblestone streets and how her mother would sing traditional Christmas chorales while she baked apple tarts in the oven in preparation for Christmas festivities. While Paris was thrilling and exciting, she longed to be home, surrounded by her family where she wouldn't have to deal with strange stares all the time.

When they pulled up in front of a large, white house just east of the Louvre, she felt her stomach go into knots. She could see outlines of people inside at the curtains drawn at the windows and the thought of so many people gathered in one space made her feel that she'd made a terrible mistake. Meg pulled her out of the three carriage and soon the three women found themselves immersed in the middle of a large sitting room, surrounded by dozens of people dressed in newly pressed suits or skirts that were so extravagant that they seemed to take up any extra room there was to move around! Lisette watched as both Sorelli and Meg made their way from guest to guest, gossipping lightly and flattering any man who gave them more than a slight glance. When Lisette was offered a cup of coffee from a young man several years younger than her, she blushed and took the cup with a barely audible, "Thank you." She sat content in her chair, watching the party coming to life and admiring the lovely room she was in.

It was a beautiful set of apartments. The furniture was lush, covered in all kinds of velvet and satins along the dark, cherry wood. She looked in awe at the many people around her, chatting mindlessly with all kinds of delicate glasses in their gloved hands. She watched them in envy, not knowing how they all so effortlessly conversed with one another. Meg and Sorelli stayed nearby, but were already caught talking to a handful of soldiers who had been placed in Paris to celebrate the holidays. As she absentmindedly stirred the coffee in her hands, she found herself glancing around the room, looking for any sign of the count, but the room was filled with so many people that she was lucky she hadn't lost sight of her shoes!

As if on cue, the viscount appeared in the room, causing a momentary silence before a handful of women, including Meg and Sorelli, flocked around him, initiating conversation once more. Lisette stood awkwardly, adjusting her gloves so if the count were to follow she'd look presentable. The viscount did not disguise his evident boredom as the women around him clung to his clothes and whispered things into his ear. She couldn't help but giggle at the thought of how this poor man was to ever find a wife. Suddenly, the count was there behind him, pulling his brother away from the mass of admirers and introducing to a group of important looking gentlemen standing just a few feet away from where Lisette was.

"He looks so handsome!" Meg cried, running to Lisette at the leave of the viscount.

"And who are you referring to?" Lisette teased, taking her arm and leading her to the nearby window.

"She's talking about the viscount," Sorelli replied in a biting tone, joining them.

"But isn't he?" Meg repeated, focusing her attention on Lisette and ignoring Sorelli's comment.

"Give it a rest," Sorelli said, coming to Lisette's side. "You know he'll never give any attention to you! He needs a gentleman's daughter, not a ballerina from the opera house."

Meg scowled at him, causing Sorelli to laugh.

"Which one do you admire?" Lisette inquired, trying to get back at Sorelli for disappointing Meg.

Sorelli glanced at Lisette with surprise, before dropping her stern gaze and replying, "The count, of course. He's far wealthier than his brother!"

The three women began to laugh, but stopped suddenly at the arrival of the count.

"Monsieur," the three women said in unison, bowing slightly.

"How are you enjoying yourselves?" the count asked, standing straight. He looked so handsome, Lisette almost forgot how to speak, but Meg quickly came to the rescue.

"It's quite delightful, my lord," Meg replied, smiling deeply at him. The count made a comment on the cold weather before asking them how they could all look so beautiful. When he made the compliment, his eyes were locked on Lisette, which brought a deep blush to her cheeks.

"We are so excited you will be in Paris for the winter," Sorelli said, taking his arm and guiding him to the next room, where the dancing was taking place. Not knowing better, Lisette followed, earnestly trying to catch the attention of the count once more. Meg was distracted by the viscount, who had escaped the group of men he had been talking to and was seeking company nearer to his own age.

Sorelli and the count quickly joined the dancers while Lisette lingered at the side of the room, watching as they gracefully moved about together.

"Lisette?"

She turned to see, with great surprise, Armel standing near the punch bowl, dressed in a dark suit.

"Armel," she said with hesitation, disappointed to know he could clearly see she was watching the count. "I wasn't expecting to see you here!"

"Nor myself," he said, giving her a glass. "But the count extended an invitation to the orchestra at the last minute."

Lisette felt her heart drop and set the glass he'd given her on the nearby table. Apparently the count hadn't been interested in her exclusive presence after all.

"Care for a dance?" Armel said, setting his own glass down and extending his arm to her.

"I'm not sure," she replied. "There's an awful lot of people around and I don't want anyone staring."

"If anybody will be staring, it will be at your beautiful dress," Armel replied with a smile. "Truly, Lisette, you should let Meg and Sorelli dress you more often. You look stunning!"

She almost replied with a smart remark, but instead smiled and took his arm, letting him escort her to the dance floor. While they waltzed, Lisette was almost able to forget the count and Sorelli as Armel and she laughed about Carlotta failures as Marguerite, how Reyer was handling the fact they there may be new managers at the opera house, and how they felt so out of place among so many people in high society. By the time the waltz ended, she was surprised to find how out of breath she felt and laughed nervously as Armel and she nearly tripped over each other walking off the dance floor.

Just as they were about to make their way back into the sitting room, she saw a hand tap Armel lightly on the shoulder.

"Might I steal your partner for the next dance?" the count said, smiling gently at Lisette.

Before she knew what she was doing, Lisette quickly let her arm drop from Armel's and pressed her hand into the awaiting one of the count. She gave Armel a reassuring look as she was led back onto the dance floor.

"What dance is this?" Lisette asked as they made their way to the center of the room, quickly surrounded by other couples. She saw that Sorelli's new partner was the viscount, who were both looking at Lisette and the count with intense curiosity.

"The Viennese Waltz," the count replied with some apprehension. "Do you know it?"

Lisette nearly let out a cry of relief. The Viennese Waltz was perhaps one of the most difficult ballroom dances to perform, but she had been performing it since she was a child.

"You forget that I am from Germany, monsieur," she said with a smile as she placed her hand on his shoulder. "The Viennese Waltz is in my blood."

Just as she finished speaking, the music began and they were off. It must have been a sight to see with the vast amount of people around them all twirling in time with the music, with the ladies' dresses billowing out and their partners holding them close. Lisette was pleased to see how surprised the count was at her lightness of step and sweeping motions. Dancing had never been one of her stronger aspects, except when it came to the Viennese Waltz. She even found that at one point she was leading _him_! She laughed to herself and was relieved to see he was more amused than offended at the change of roles in their dance.

When the dance ended, the count, extremely out of breath, begged to sit down a moment and asked her to join him. She could see Meg and Sorelli by the viscount and Armel, watching them both closely, but they did not make an effort to come near. When the count had settled himself on the ledge of a window, she found that they were quite hidden from public eye, with everyone else being so immersed in the food, music, and drink. He motioned for her to sit nearby, which she did, but kept herself pressed against the other side of the window.

"Who knew the Opera House's accompanist could be the prima ballerina as well?" the count remarked with a smile, wiping sweat from his brow.

"You're too kind," Lisette replied, watching his hand rest only a mere few inches from hers. She felt her heart begin to pound, despite what she had learned from Armel earlier about how her presence had not been an exclusive invitation.

"I hope to come across you more in the opera house," he said. "It was so pleasant getting to see you nearly every day over the summer."

Lisette suddenly felt herself stiffen as she watched the distance between them become closer. His arm was now resting on her elbow and she could smell the wine on his breath. Part of her wanted to close the distance between them and tell him just how wonderful and understanding he was, but the other part of her was well aware that her new appearance, vigorous dancing, and many glasses of wine were the result of his words.

"I'll be in rehearsals most of the day," she remarked, removing her arm from his grasp. "I'm afraid the winter is terrible busy with no many performances. I'm not sure I'll even have time to myself!"

While she had hoped that distancing herself would have made the count shrink away, instead she found it only intensified his need to be closer to her. This please her, despite knowing he wasn't quite himself from the way he was leaning against the glass of the window and sweat dripping from his brow. Lisette couldn't help but feel something warm growing inside of her chest, ready to burst forth at any moment. When was the last time she had been in close company of a man she had admired who dared feel the same way back?

"I'll be sure to stay out of your way," he said with a wink, reaching across and placing a hand on one of her gloved fingers. "You're just… so irresistible, if you don't mind me being so bold."

She felt a blush creep up along her neck. "I don't mind."

"You look absolutely beautiful, Lisette. I'm sure La Sorelli is the culprit behind your delightful attire?"

She couldn't help but let her lips pout ever so slightly at the mention of Sorelli's name, but nodded and purposely tucked a stray piece of hair that had come loose from her bun behind her ear. The count's expression in that gesture suddenly became far more focused, his eyes never leaving hers, and she suddenly realized that a fantasy that had been playing in her head, unconsciously, might about to come true.

His eyes suddenly focused on her temple. "Ah, your scar—"

He suddenly stopped speaking, taking a hand away from her. She understood that he was now being embarrassed by his boldness, recognizing what had so cleverly been concealed by her friends. However, she was not offended by his commentary, rather, she was elated. How wonderful it was to be _normal_ for an evening, where men could stare at her face and not turn away in disgust, where she attracted conversation from other women her age!

"Gone," she answered with a small laugh. "At least for tonight. I'm glad Sorelli and Meg convinced me to have some fun."

The count's boldness returned and for one, sweeping moment, Lisette was afraid she had said that wrong thing. But all of that was thrown away when Philippe leaned in and eagerly pressed his lips to hers.

They were cleverly concealed on the ledge of the window, so Lisette stared, wide-eyed, at this rich and illustrious man who was _kissing_ her. How long had it been since she had been kissed? It only took a moment for the disillusionment to melt away before she placed a gloved hand on the base of his neck, pulling him closer. She felt him sigh at her eagerness, opening his mouth ever so slightly.

They sat like that for quite a while, until she at last broke away, becoming aware that Meg was probably looking for her and could appear at any moment. The count was jubilant, a wide smile decorating his face.

"It appears that too much wine makes me reckless," he said. "Please forgive me if I've offended you."

"Quite the opposite," she assured, standing. "Forgive me, but I'm sure Meg must be looking for me. Please feel free to stop by the orchestra rehearsals anytime."

She spun on her toes, a silly grin decorating her face as she made her way in between the mass of spinning couples to find Meg. If anyone were to find out about the encounter she'd just had, rumors would spread among the opera house as if a disease. She decided to keep what had happened to herself, rather looking forward to seeing how everything else would play out with Philippe.

The night went on much longer than she had anticipated, finally leaving around nearly three o'clock in the morning in the carriage provided by The Opera House. Meg and Sorelli had both had too much to drink, snoring loudly on the way back and having to lean heavily on Lisette's shoulders as she helped them back to their dormitory. By the time they were settled, it was almost four o'clock and she was regretting agreeing to such a party when there was a performance that very night, one which she tried to put in the back of her mind.

She made the decision to stay in the ballerina dormitories that evening. Madame Giry would not be pleased if she discovered Lisette sleeping there in the morning, but she would rather not find out what the streets of Paris are like in a dress as elegant as the one she wearing at this hour. She was able to find a spare nightgown in one of the closets of the teenage ballerinas, ever so small on her but comfortable enough to keep her warm as she made her way around the nearly-silent dormitory. There was all but one bunk that didn't have a sleeping figure in its sheets, and Lisette climbed in gratefully.

As her heavy eyelids drew her into sleep, she couldn't help but let the words sink into her mind.

 _La comtesse de Chagny_ , she thought before she was drawn into a dreamless sleep.


	18. A New Siebel

**November, Paris 1880**

"Lisette?"

Lisette groaned, wincing as she shifted in the narrow cot, feeling pins poking into her scalp from last night's hairdo. She suddenly became aware of the fact that she wasn't in her bed from the way the springs in the mattress creaked beneath her and sat up, almost bumping the figure next to her bed.

"Christine?" she asked sleepily, recognizing the mass of dark curls surrounding the dark figure's face. "I'm so sorry, is this your cot?"

"It is, I'm afraid," Christine's timid voice answered. "You gave me quite a scare!"

Continuing to try and make out the dark shapes around her, Lisette quickly grabbed a nearby shawl, wrapping it around her shoulders and standing up. "I'm so sorry! I saw the empty bed and thought for sure it was an extra." She knew she must've looked a fright, she hadn't even bothered to try and wash off the layers of makeup Sorelli had applied. Christine was looking at her with wide eyes, and she understood that all the makeup covering her scar must have been rubbed off from her tossing and turning.

However strange Lisette must have looked, she argued that Christine's appearance was far stranger. Even though the nearby clock on Meg's nightstand showed that it was merely seven in the morning, Christine was fully dressed with deep circles under her eyes. Lisette realized that Christine must have been out all night as well and had just returned home!

"I didn't see you at the housewarming party last night!" Lisette said with a smile, trying to make light conversation despite Christine's exhausted expression. "We didn't get home until nearly four in the morning! And I thought we were the last to leave!"

Christine's drooping eyes suddenly became alert and her cheeks flushed a deep red. "Oh," she said softly. "No, I wasn't at the viscount's gala."

A strange sound came from Lisette's throat, somewhere between an "Ah!" and "Oh dear!" "I'm sorry, how rude of me," she apologized quickly, criticizing herself from making such quick assumptions.

"I was simply out with a—" Christine suddenly stopped herself, bringing a hand to her cheek. Lisette was well aware that Christine had almost given something away from the way her eyes darted around the room, as if she was afraid someone would overhear. "—a friend," she finished. "I'm afraid I'm quite tired and could use the morning to sleep due to tonight's rehearsal."

"Of course," Lisette replied, taking a step further from Christine's cot. "I better make my way home as well and get cleaned up for tonight. I am so saddened that this is Madame Faivre's last performance!"

There was a slight change in Christine's timid expression. Excitement? Lisette couldn't tell. Christine merely nodded sleepily and slid into her cot. Lisette watched her curiously as she covered herself with a thin blanket, before her heavy breathing gave away that she had fallen asleep in a matter of seconds! With Christine's increased time at the opera house, she had been allotted a cot by Madame Giry in the ballet rats' dormitories instead of in the nearby apartment with her guardian, Madame Valerius.

Lisette stretched her muscles, feeling her calves aching from the high heeled shoes she'd been wearing the previous evening. She quickly grabbed her usual gray dress that Meg had left for her and hurried into the bathroom.

Her reflection almost made her laugh out loud. The rouge that had been applied to her cheeks must be left on Christine's pillow, and the paint that Sorelli had applied on her lips was now smudged across her chin! Her long, blonde updo was also lopsided from being slept on, and she anxiously began removing pins and washing the leftover makeup from her face.

As she wiped her face clean with a towel, seeing her scar prominently exposed, she thought of her conversation with the count last evening. He had seemed so taken with her with her scar so carefully covered by Sorelli's makeup that she wondered if she should begin wearing Sorelli's makeup products that she used for evening performances more often!

After slipping into her dress and quickly braiding her hair, she grabbed Christine's sheets to be taken to the washroom. As she descended the stairs, she thought carefully about Christine's remark, "out with a friend." Christine did not have many friends besides Meg and herself, being new to Parisian society and all. She hardly spoke of any acquaintances she may have know at the Conservatoire and was intrigued to find out who Christine would enjoy being around so much that she would be out all night with them.

Her conversation with Erik was still running through her mind as she spent the afternoon preparing for another vocalist rehearsal, this time with the replacement for Siebel. But the image of the count's lips pressed against hers continued to send butterflies through her stomach and left her daydreaming of more galas and societal events. It was the first time she had been kissed since before she had attended the Conservatoire. The kiss made her feel stronger, bolder… beautiful in fact.

As the clock in the ensemble room read six o'clock, she couldn't help but feel a presence lurking in the shadows.. Turning, she half-expected to see Erik standing at the door, but it was vacant. She couldn't help but feel a surge of disappointment and shuffled her feet as she made her way down to the auditorium, to hear announcements from Reyer about times for rehearsal the upcoming week.

When she entered the auditorium, she saw Armel perched on the edge of the stage, chatting casually with one of the ballet rats. As she came closer, she realized that it was Jammes, her skin even more pale than usual.

"Good afternoon," Armel said with a smile when seeing Lisette. "I see you made it home alright after last night's party!"

"Yes," Lisette said, setting her pile of scores on the stage. "I spent the night with Meg and Sorelli. I haven't seen them all day!"

"I have!" Jammes squeaked.

"Jammes," Lisette exclaimed, turning to her. "Whatever is the matter?"

"She thinks she's seen the Opera Ghost," Armel said with a smirk, winking at Lisette.

Jammes stared at Armel intently, obviously infuriated by his expression. "He was hiding just there," the little ballerina muttered, pointing to the orchestra stalls just beside them. "By the organ! I was here just ten minutes ago, and there he was, staring right at me!"

"Oh, nonsense!" Armel huffed. "It's all in your head!"

Lisette put a comforting arm around the small girl, who was trembling by now. She shot Armel a dirty look before escorting her to a nearby seat. Just as Jammes had begun to calm down, Lisette looked suspiciously at the organ tucked away in the stalls. She dared not admit to the girl that she may have been _right_ in what she saw.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

Debienne's booming voice sent a hush over the anxious crowd in both the performance hall and those still lingering on the stage. All looked anxiously at the manager who strutted in with a pleased smile, clearly bursting with pride at the upcoming announcement.

"I appreciate your willingness to meet this evening," he began, motioning specifically to Reyer. "We are sad to see Madame Faivre leaving us, but we know she will accomplish great things during her time abroad! Now, I'm sure many of you are anxious to hear who will be taking her place, and I'm delighted to announce it will be one of our very own!"

Lisette raised her eyebrows at the last comment and glanced at Armel, who was enthralled in Debienne's speech. _One of our own?_ she thought.

"Mademoiselle Daae will be taking the role of Siebel for our upcoming season!" Debienne declared, motioning behind him.

Christine Daae emerged with both Poligny and Meg, smiling shyly at the chorus and orchestra members who applauded politely. Debienne's comment took a moment to sink in, but when it did, Lisette's eyes narrowed as she glanced at the organ once more in the orchestra stalls. As soon as Debienne dismissed the chorus members and ballerinas, Christine was instantly swarmed with congratulations and Jammes leapt from her seat to join them, leaving her alone with Armel.

"An interesting choice," Armel said slowly as he came by her side. "I thought the managers would have chosen someone who has been here longer."

"Maybe Jammes's opera ghost has something to do with it," Lisette said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

Armel chuckled at her comment and joined the others on stage in congratulations. Lisette lingered behind until the performance hall was empty, quickly checking what times she would be needed for rehearsals this upcoming week with Reyer. When all was abandoned, only then did she slip into the orchestra stalls and head to the organ.

She stared at the organ for a few moments, wondering if what she was about to do was right, but she flipped her braid over her shoulder and said, "I see that Fraülein Daae has become your new prodigé."

As she expected, she saw a figure emerge into the stalls, the swishing of the long cloak revealing Erik's presence. "I see that you disapprove."

Her eyebrows came together at his response. "I don't disapprove," she said slowly, "But I am curious to know why _her_ of all chorus girls."

Erik's mask stood out starkly among their dark surrounding and she was unable to read the uncovered part of his face. But she could tell from the way he had shifted his weight that her comment had ignited some sort of response.

"I do not need to explain myself," he said after a moment, withdrawing to the entrance he had appeared from.

"You never bother to," Lisette spat out, unable to control the rage that was bubbling inside.

Erik's expression changed drastically when he sensed the poison in her words. He quickly came to her side, a gloved hand wrapped around her wrist.

"I don't _need_ to," he hissed, bringing his face close to hers. "The entire possibility of my opera becoming a success lies with you and her, don't you understand? I cannot explain my reasoning for why I do what I do. I _do_ know that if you continue to question this, it will _never_ happen."

"I know you're behind her success," Lisette snapped through gritted teeth. "I'm not blind. You need a pretty voice and a pretty face." She wrenched her arm from his grip and took a step backward, gathering the music left on the organ in her arms. She could sense Erik's anger behind her, seeming to create an unbearable pressure in the small space beneath the stage. When she glanced back at him after a few moments, he was still staring at her with a motionless expression.

"A pretty face?" he exclaimed. "You think that is all I care about? A pretty face when I have spent _years_ perfecting this score, only letting you read it and dare to make edits? I am disappointed in you, Lisette."

She felt something flicker across her face. Was it rage? Or a smile? It was the first time he had ever used her first name, rather than Fraülein Geiger. But the enmity in its pronunciation kept her from pondering on the thought any more and she merely pursed her lips, gripping the loose sheets of music tighter in her hands.

"You don't understand," Erik said at last, moving to the edge of the stalls, placing a hand on the banister. "You cannot see past your own desires and your hatred of Carlotta. But me? I have a vision that can move this opera house to successes no one could ever dream. And Christine has the potential to do it. She needs training, yes, but you cannot hear the prosperity that is yet to come."

"Are we all at the mercy of your scheming?" Lisette spat, bringing the papers to her side and coming to the edge of the stalls as well. "Do we not have any say in what happens in _your_ opera house?"

"We?" Erik said, almost laughing as he raised his exposed eyebrow. "Your count has plenty of pomp to convince everyone that the manager and he have the final say. It seems he even has you convinced."

Her heart stopped. _Does he know?_ she thought, thinking of the kiss that had happened just last evening. His face was as cold as ever, but she was convinced he didn't realize the intimacy she had shared with the count the evening before. She raised her arm for a fleeting moment, almost as if she was going to touch his mask, but then her arm came back to her side.

"I am not going to discuss this," she said at last, feeling the breath leaving her body at her words. "If Fraülein Daaé is to be the saving grace of the opera house, let it be so, but I will not let you harm or drive anyone away with your pernicious tendencies."

And before he could say another word to her, she swiftly left, feeling the draft of the orchestra stalls behind her.

* * *

 **I did warn everyone that the uploads would be slow but they are coming! I gave up social media for Lent this year and it has been wonderful to find time to read and write. I have been rereading old favorite FanFics and discovering new ones over the last few weeks and it is so emotionally draining becoming attached to all these characters! However, I am so thankful for this place and all the creativity it brings into my life! Huzzah for creative minds!**


	19. Christine's Debut

**Another extremely belated upload! I should just be done apologizing by now. Life just happens! I'm just proud of myself that I'm still going with this story. Thank you to those of you who have shown their support... you're the reason we're all still here right now!**

* * *

 _November, Paris 1880_

It had been nearly two weeks since Lisette had last heard from Erik.

Her argument with him in the orchestra stalls the evening Christine's debut had been announced had created a rift between them. While she had successfully managed to claim nearly the entire score of _Don Juan Triumphant_ during this time, there had been no meetings, no letters, and no mysterious appearances from the Opera Ghost.

She had grown tired of rehearsing in the ensemble room and had chosen to practice at the Conservatoire, where she knew Erik wouldn't be listening and she wouldn't have Armel berating her with what was wrong. She also waited anxiously to hear of any news of the assistantship she had applied for, but it seemed that no one was in a hurry to get anything done with the Christmas season approaching.

Her one hope of retaining her sanity were with the sparse, but fulfilling conversations she had with Philippe since his housewarming party. She would often join him with Meg and Sorelli in the many lounges in the opera house or even go for a stroll at a local cafe when they had a break in the afternoons. She found this time to help the aching she felt with the lack of communication with Erik and looked forward to catching up on the latest gossip, something she had never been interested before.

On this particular afternoon, she sat with Meg in a small parlor downstairs, anxiously pacing back and forth.

"Where are they?" Lisette cried, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "It's nearly half past four. They should have been here an hour ago!"

Meg sat lazily upon one of the armchairs, twirling some of her long, blonde hair between her fingers, looking absentmindedly out the window.

"You worry too much," she said with a yawn. "They'll be here. The count has so many meetings throughout the day. It was only a matter of time before he was delayed!"

Her response did little to ease Lisette's impatience, but she forced herself to go to the nearby window and stare out into the darkening city. Small bits of snow had begun to fall and she shivered, thinking about how a strong cup of coffee might warm her bones.

When the clock struck five, Lisette decided to go to the performance hall, where she knew Sorelli had been practicing just hours before. Could he perhaps be held up with Debienne?

When she entered, there were a handful of chorus members rehearsing with Gabrielle, but no ballerinas were in sight. She was almost tempted to find Madame Giry, when she saw Sorelli's dark hair peeking out from behind a set piece. Making her way backstage, she was surprised to find Sorelli in a day dress, rather than the clothes she normally wore to rehearsal.

"Lisette?" Sorelli said with surprise, backing away from the small mirror she had been staring at. "What's ever the matter—" As if remembering, a hand flew to her forehead and she groaned.

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. "I told Count Philippe I had an appointment this afternoon and I wasn't going to be able to make our normal excursion! He must have taken that as a sign to cancel with all of us without telling you!"

Lisette felt her heart drop at her words. "Oh," she said softly.

"Don't fret," Sorelli said with a smile. "He mentioned dinner tonight, after Christine's debut! A good way to celebrate the end of a hectic month!"

Lisette smiled at this, instantly feeling her disappointment melting away. "That sounds like just what we need!"

Sorelli smiled weakly and Lisette noticed something astray in her gaze. Her eyes were tight, as if she was forcing the smile, but before she could question what was wrong, Sorelli had disappeared out the back door.

Once she had informed Meg that their afternoon trip was cancelled, she headed to the organ in the orchestra stalls to brush up on a complicated passage for tonight's performance. As she set down at the piano and flexed her fingers, she remembered the finished overture of _Don Juan Triumphant_ hidden away in the seat of the organ. She flew through the passage in Act III, not caring that it still hadn't make any significant improvement, before ripping open the seat and pulling it out, her heart pounding in her chest.

With Erik truly turning into a ghost these last several weeks, she had avoided the work at all cost. But now that she had a completed section of his opera, she longed more than anything to play it the entire way through. As she set the sheets of music onto the music stand, she admired Erik's handwriting in his clear, but short notation and laughed where her handwriting has crossed his out, making edits to tempo markings, instrumentation, and stylistic changes.

The overture happened so quickly, she almost had a hard time recollecting she'd played it the entire time through. The overture was well over ten minutes long, but the passion and intensity of the music was so overwhelming that it seemed she had been the listener, rather than the performer. As her hands lifted from the final chord and felt the echo of the organ fade around her, she let out a breath she had been holding for what felt like years. The piece was perfect. Erik knew it and she knew it too. Her eyes opened and as they focused on the small writing at the top of the page that read: _Sei heuchlerisch, sei vorsichtig, sei nicht so, wie du scheinst, sondern immer was du siehst._

She smirked, recognizing the text from the story of _Don Juan_. "Be hypocritical, be cautious, be not what you seem, but always what you see." But as the words sunk in, she realized the intensity of the meaning. As if in a trance, she grabbed the score from the organ and bolted up the stairs outside the performance hall, racing straight to Box 5, not bothering to care if anyone saw her. As she entered the seating area, seeing no one in the plush, red chairs, she sat down, admiring the view once more.

"Erik," she said softly, minding the handful of chorus members who were still lingering back stage. "I'm not here to bring up what was exchanged between us or to talk about it further. But I wanted to apologize for my abrasive behavior. But you also have no right to constantly criticize someone who has never shown anything but kindness to me, something I cherish very greatly."

She paused at this, knowing Erik would recognize her referral to the count and half expected a cynical reply, but the box remained silent. She sighed and continued.

"I'm sorry for criticizing your choice as placing Christine as Siebel. You're right, I have not heard her sing and do not know her potential. I suppose you could say I was…" Her cheeks flushed as she gathered the courage to say the next word. "...envious. Christina has spent so little time in this opera house and yet within a matter of months has risen to the role of the lead mezzo, while I've spent years trying to earn respect as a pianist."

Her words seemed stuck in her throat and she ran her fingers over the velvet lining on the banister, trying to discover where her words were leading her.

"Please don't abandon me," she mouthed, barely audible even to her ears.

After a moment longer of remaining in the box, she carefully stood and laid the arrangement of sheet music on the seat. As she passed by the curtain which separated the box from the hallway, she heard a gentle voice say, "Your tempo in the second theme was a bit brisk, don't you think?"

Her heart leapt and without thinking, she reached a hand out towards the curtains. She stopped herself, knowing that a reconnection could be ruined with the slightest misinterpretation from Erik. Instead, she let a small smile settle on her lips and shrugged, leaving the box to return home to prepare for the evening's performance.

Her steps were elated that evening as she raced from her small apartment back to the opera house. That one small comment from Erik had assured her that things were right again and she found herself actually looking forward to the evening's performance. If Christine's voice was what Erik expected it to be, she didn't doubt it would be a spectacular debut.

When Lisette arrived at the orchestra stalls, she was surprised to see Armel was there already, soaking his reed and studying his score intently. Deep lines creased his forehead as he flicked back and forth between the pages and she almost laughed when he nearly knocked his music stand over in his impatience.

"Nervous?" she asked, causing him to jump. His expression immediately lightened upon seeing her and he shrugged, flicking the pages back to the overture.

"Not really," he said, taking the reed out from its cup of water and fixing it to his bassoon. "But this isn't my score! It seems someone else has been interested in playing the first bassoon part."

Lisette glanced at the second bassoonist sitting nearby, but he seemed harmless enough, and she focused her attention back on Armel.

"I'm quite eager to hear Mademoiselle Daae," she said, settling herself into a chair. "I've heard nothing but praise about her voice!"

"Really?" Armel said, surprise in his voice. "The only thing I've heard from Jammes and Sorelli is that no one can believe she was trained at the Conservatoire. Apparently her voice is horrendous!"

Lisette raised an eyebrow. "Certainly Monsieur Reyer doesn't believe that, or else she would've be in the position she's in now."

"Or the opera ghost has had his way," Armel said with a meek smile. Lisette tried to ignore his comment, standing to go back to her instrument.

"Wait," he said, taking her arm and inclining her to sit once more. "I have something I need to tell you."

"Yes?" she asked, startled by how close he leaned in, his face mere inches from hers.

"There's been some rumors about the count," he hissed, glancing around nervously.

Lisette almost blushed, not sure whether to be hesitant or delighted. "If this is about my afternoon walks with him, you see—"

"No," Armel said darkly. "Not about the count and _you._ It's about him and Sorelli."

She adjusted her position in her chair, knocking her forehead into his and causing him to curse and back away.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, rubbing her own forehead. "Sorelli?"

"Yes," he groaned. "They've been together nearly every afternoon taking rounds at the opera house."

"Yes," she replied, creating a tone of indifference. "With myself and Meg Giry."

"That's not what everyone is saying," he said, taking a seat once more. "Apparently they've been seen by themselves on numerous occasions."

Lisette decided that she didn't want to hear anymore of this conversation and excused herself, returning to the piano where she began to organize her music. However, as the general public began to fill the seats in the performance hall, she was startled by an obvious movement from the corner of her eye.

She glanced up at Box Five and couldn't help the audible gasp that fell from her lips. In the last few months she had known Erik, she had picked up on his subtle movements he made within his private box. However, he never sat in the open, always sitting far enough back that only the faintest outline of his mask could be seen. But in his place sat the count and his brother, both chatting away with the wealthy women sitting in the box next to theirs. In her three years at the opera house, she had never seen a figure publicly attend a performance within that box.

It seemed that others were noticing the strange incident happening, as many orchestra members were whispering among each other instead of their usual warm-ups for the performance. The count and his brother seemed oblivious to the scrutiny around them, as they were both now sipping their glasses of wine and nodded to Debienne and Poligny in their own private box. Lisette could only imagine how Erik was reacting to this intrusion, and was quite surprised he hadn't made an example out of them already.

As this thought crossed her mind, the count glanced down at the orchestra stalls and caught her stare and smiled warmly, offering his glass in a toast. Before she could collect her thoughts, she bolted from the orchestra stalls, pushing past a rowdy bunch of ballerinas, and darted up the hallway to Box 5, not daring to stop when she felt her braid fall from its normal milkmaid style on her head.

She paused at the door, careful to check her heavy breathing and smooth any flyaways. Her impatient raps on the door were quickly met with a strange look from the viscount, as he was still holding his glass of wine and probably expected one much finer than Lisette to be at their box entrance.

"Mademoiselle Geiger," he said stiffly. "How can we help you?"

The count, upon recognizing her name, stood from his seat and quickly joined them, a handsome smile etched across his face. Lisette couldn't help but admire how handsome both of them looked as they ushered her inside, offering her chilled wine and a seat.

"No, thank you, monsieurs," she said, waving their offers away. "I believe there's been a terrible mistake!"

The count's expression instantly grew grave. "A mistake?"

"Yes," she said, trying to clear her head of the many images of Erik's distorted expressions from somewhere within these very walls. "I believe Box Five has already been reserved! I know Monsieurs Poligny and Debienne would be more than happy to—"

"Reserved?" the viscount spat, nearly pushing her aside as he returned to his seat at the front of the box. "How absurd. We were assured this was the best seat in the house!"

"Yes, your grace," she responded, moving closer but instantly realizing that if she were to move any closer, she would be seen by the other members of society who were present at tonight's performance. As she took a step backwards, she felt the count press against her and blushed.

"Surely there's been no mistake," the count said, stepping beside her. The way his mustache turned up with him smile made her heart flutter.

Lisette could feel her hands absentmindedly wringing her dress. What was she to say? It was observed for the opera ghost? She was in favor of the count and knew that if she became another silly victim of fear to the phantom, he would lose all respect for her.

"You know Poligny and his superstitions!" she cried. "If he finds out you've been seated in the so-called Opera Ghost's box, he'll lose his mind!"

The count let out a hearty laugh. "Then let him!" he replied, taking a deep drink of wine. "Mademoiselle Geiger, we have far too much to worry about other than if some silly ghost will come after us. Besides, even if this so called ghost _were_ to demand his seat, my brother and I have more than enough money to buy his seat for the evening."

Lisette felt her stomach churn as she saw that the performance hall was nearly full, indicating she only had a few minutes to get back to her seat in the orchestra stalls before the opera began. Just as she was about to create another excuse, there was a sharp rap on the door. The viscount, clearly annoyed, rolled his eyes before opening it, nearly hitting the person behind it.

"Monsieurs," a rough voice said.

Lisette was shocked to see Joseph Buquet standing at the other side, clearly surprised by finding her standing next to the count.

"Monsieur Buquet," the viscount said through gritted teeth. "How may we help you?"

"I have been sent up here to move you to a different box," Buquet replied, throwing a glance at Lisette.

"Move?" the count said, taking a step forward. "What is going on? First, Mademoiselle Geiger comes to us telling stories about Poligny's superstition of the opera ghost, then we are being asked to moved after our generous donations as patrons…"

Buquet held up his hands. "I am just here to deliver the news. Box six is more than adequate to make you both…" Buquet shot another uneasy look at Lisette. "... _comfortable_ during the performance."

Lisette felt relief wash over her as she watched the count and his brother collect their coats and wine glasses to be begrudgingly moved. As they left, followed by Buquet, she saw Erik's outline hidden in the curtains. Even though the lights were beginning to dim and he was well hidden in the shadows, she saw a small smile cross the uncovered part of his face and her heart elated at the thought.

Christine was a wild success. Despite the fact that she was not playing the lead female role, you would have thought she was the star of the production from the way the audience thundered with applause after each of her arias. Lisette also noticed a difference in her playing when Christine was performing. Carlotta was always a struggle to follow and the orchestra was primarily responsible for any music making. Christine's voice was an entirely different story. Her voice and the orchestra worked together for the first time as one and Lisette could sense from the movement and expression in the other orchestra members' performances that they could feel the change in the opera house as well. It was no surprise that when Christine sang her final aria that many of the orchestra members joined the applause as well.

When the performance was over and congratulations had been offered all the way around, she was determined to go to Box Six to explain her strange actions before hand with the count. However, she stopped herself upon coming to the door, for she saw the count standing mere inches away from Buquet, both muttering under their breath and looking rather upset. Lisette did her best to go unnoticed, but she was certain that Monsieur Buquet had seen her slip into Box Five upon discovering their disagreement.

"Well done," Erik's voice said, causing her to jump. As the lights from the performance hall began to dim, indicating everyone had left, she was glad to see him step out from the shadows and settle into one of the seats. She had to feel her way over to the adjoining seat and felt a gloved hand rest on her elbow, guiding her to where he was. It was strange, feeling his physical presence and boldness upon touching her. Was he finally beginning to trust her?

"To you as well," she said softly, glancing at the large, red curtains obscuring their view of the stage. "Mademoiselle Daae was a wild success. The orchestra members were singing her praises after closing curtain."

Erik seemed satisfied with this answer, for his other gloved hand rested on his breast. Lisette sat herself in the other chair, leaning her cheek into her hand. "By far the most musical singing I've ever heard in my life by a woman," she said. "You taught her well."

She could see the eyebrow underneath his mask lift ever so slightly. "And what makes you think that I am her teacher?"

Lisette whipped her head to face him, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Don't play games with me. I can see the way she uses phrases and her breath control, it's exactly like yours. And it's why her performance was phenomenal."

Erik laughed, a strange sound, and she felt like the room was closing in around her as she focused on that wonderful sound. He stood, taking her arm as he did so, and she stood up and left the box with him.

It appeared that the count and Monsieur Buquet had left and the hallways of the opera house were left to them. Lisette knew that the ballerinas and chorus members would be celebrating backstage and the managers and other patrons would be at the local restaurants and salons. She felt great comfort walking arm in arm with Erik through the many hallways until they reached the door that led to the back enctrance.

"I trust you'll keep this out of harm's way," he said, handing her a roll of papers. "These are the first two scenes of _Don Juan_. Look over them and add any notes you feel necessary. I'll look forward to reading them at our next meeting."

He let go of her arm and turned to walk away.

"Wait!" she cried, catching how loud her voice was. "And when will that be?"

" _Wir werden uns vor Weihnachten treffen. Ich werde nach dir schicken, sobald der Erfolg von Fraülein Daae nachgelassen hat._ ," he said softly with a glisten in his eye. "We will meet before Christmas. I will send for you once Mademoiselle Daae's success has died down."

He left her standing before the door, shivering as she felt the draft from the cold November evening rush beneath the cracks. Christmas was only a few weeks away, yet it seemed like an eternity from now. When she had bundled herself up and held Erik's scores clutched in her hands as she made her way home, she felt a smile cross her face as she remembered the way Christine's voice had soared that evening. More than ever, she felt that with Erik's compositions, her musicianship, and Christine's talent, it was only a matter of time before the opera house truly was the Opera Ghost's.


	20. A Face Revealed

_December, Paris 1880_

After Lisette's encounter with the count and his brother on the night of Christine's debut, the afternoon walks with Sorelli had ceased. At least, without an invitation extended to Lisette. At first, she had thought the count was merely busy. There were many great things a man of nobility had to do in a place such as Paris. His time couldn't always be spent at the Palais Garnier! But it wasn't until a warm November afternoon a few days after the performance that she had spotted Sorelli and him walking to the nearest café, a treat the three of them would have normally shared together.

Instead of being arm in arm with the count, Lisette now spent her afternoons with Armel. She had begun to trust him once more and the harsh words spoken were soon forgotten. Even though she knew he would never admit it, she could sense Armel was pleased that she had returned to him after accepting the count's rejection. What continued to stir in her mind was why the count had such a sudden change of heart. Was the incident in Box Five the cause of this breach in her relationship with the two brothers?

"Your audition went well?" Armel asked as they lounged backstage, taking a break from their afternoon rehearsals by watching the ballerinas being reprimanded by Madame Giry.

"Well enough," Lisette replied, referring to her audition at the Conservatoire just earlier that month. "They were skeptical, no doubt, of a woman applying for the assistantship. But Monsieur Marmontel was able to convince them to hear me."

" _A woman?" Monsieur Franck, the organ professor had asked. Lisette stood in the hallway, wringing her hands nervously as she overheard the men speaking at the declaration of a female name on the applicant's list. "As an assistant? Performing music is one thing… but_ teaching—"

" _Monsieur Franck," Marmontel interrupted, "She was one of my finest students here, even better than some who have remained her since their graduation. She is the prima pianist at the Paris Opera Company and has a background in lieder and Wagner, unlike most of our Parisian students."_

 _She heard the scoffs among the other men and backed farther away from the door as she repeatedly heard "woman" and "impossible" muttered over and over. She had almost begun to give up hope of being given the opportunity to play for them when Monsieur Marmontel opened the door, causing her to start from the sudden movement._

" _Come in, my dear," he said with a gentle smile, his mustache turning up at his lips. "They are eager to hear you."_

 _She had been frightened half to death sitting at a large piano with so many discriminatory eyes set against her. She could feel every professor watching her carefully as she let out a long breath, lifted her hands to the ivory keys, and let her eyes close. The notes on the pages of music she had memorized the last several months flew underneath her closed eyelids and she could feel the music swelling in her ears. When she finally struck the first chord, it was as if no one else was there with her._

 _She had played samples of German, Austrian, Spanish, and French composers until she could feel the muscles in her forearms beginning to tense. At last, Marmontel held up his hand and she was released from the audition with an indication to expect a letter from them by the new year. There had been a strange look upon all the men's faces as she left the room that she could not understand, and had grown more worried over the last several days that their doubts of her abilities had been proven to be correct._

"Marmontel," Armel said with a smile, jerking her from his thoughts. "You know he's not a fan of Monsieur Debussy? I heard he was almost kicked out of the conservatoire due to his radical compositions!"

"I surely hope not!" she declared. "That music was some of the most original and lovely music I have ever heard. It would be a shame to let such talent leave Paris!"

Armel shrugged, eyeing Sorelli as she leapt across the stage, causing many of the lingering stagehands to stop painting the backdrop currently behind them and focus their attention on her long, muscular legs. Lisette was admiring her graceful movements herself when she caught Meg's eye who was standing near the other side of the stage. Her large, blue eyes were fixated on something in the audience. Lisette's heart jumped, thinking that perhaps Erik was making an appearance to play one of his usual pranks on the ill-mannered stagehands. But instead, Lisette recognized Debienne and the count's voices.

Armel scowled when the two men walked on the stage, clearly frustrated at the interruption of their conversation. Debienne guided the count backstage where they could use a shortcut to go to the managers' office. Lisette half expected a greeting from the count as he walked by, but he made no notice of her and she felt a sense of anger bubbling inside of her.

"What a numbskull," Armel commented when the two men had disappeared. "It's like we don't even exist!"

Lisette's eyes were still fixed on the door that had swung shut behind the two men. Her stomach rumbled, signaling that it was time for her to go prepare dinner at her apartment before the evening performances began. "We don't exist," she remarked, slinging her rugsack over her shoulder. "We're just the orchestra, remember?"

He chuckled at her comment and it seemed that all thoughts of the count were lost. She waved goodbye, reminding him about their rehearsal the next evening to go over his solo in the fourth act, when a movement up above the rafters caught her attention. She glanced up, half expecting to see Joseph Buquet leaning over the edge haphazardly with a bottle of booze in his hands, but the chief stagehand was now with Madame Giry, discussing the location of a needed prop for the ballet. She quickly left Armel and darted to one of the narrow staircases spiraling up to the rafters, careful to make sure the other stagehands didn't see her. As she took an unsteady step onto one of the suspended catwalks, she heard the faint humming of Bach's third motet and instantly smiled. As if on cue, Erik revealed himself on the opposite of the stage, offering a hand and beckoning her towards him. She bounded across and felt a rush of comfort when his gloved hand touched hers.

"What are your plans this evening?" he asked her, escorting her into the nearby shadows as a stagehand began climbing the narrow staircase below them.

"I was going to go to the church to practice," she said, "But that was not a dire need. Are you in need of my services?"

A faint smirk appeared on his lips. "If you are available."

In no time, they had made their way to the basement of the opera house and Lisette found herself on the organ bench, anxiously looking over the latest addition to _Don Juan Triumphant._

"It looks remarkable," she said, studying the text and notes. "But I won't be able to appreciate it fully until you sing it for me."

She saw Erik shift uneasily away from the organ where he had been leaning just moments before. "But it's not ready."

"I know that," Lisette replied, flipping her braid over her shoulder and setting the music on the stand. "But I won't be able to critique it fully until I'm able to hear it with a tenor. I am only a keyboardist and hate to admit that I am unable to sing the part of a tenor!"

She saw another smile quickly glide across his face. "Very well, fraülein."

If Lisette thought that the overture of _Don Juan Triumphant_ was one of the greatest pieces of music ever written, she was very wrong after hearing the first aria of the opera. However, as she played and she watched Erik close his eyes as her playing filled the room, she couldn't determine if the opera was so fantastic because of the composer… or if it was due to the person singing.

 _Or both?_ she thought.

When he had finished, Lisette beamed from ear to ear, blinking back tears. " _Prächtig_ ," she said, her emotions bringing her to her native language. "Gorgeous."

Erik nodded his head. "No critiques?"

She almost blew out a breath of frustration. Erik appreciated and relished in every performance, every piece of music performed at the opera house, but when it came to his own work, he was only interested in finding how the piece could be better. Admitting defeat, she turned over the pages in her hand until she found what she was looking for.

"It's not a musical critique, per say," she said slowly. "But look at this word here."

In the score, she pointed to one of the many words in Erik's flawless handwriting. "You've used the word 'plague' here," she said. "But Don Juan is fearless! And you have used a deceptive cadence in the music. Don't you think 'torment' would be a much better fit?"

Erik stood still for a moment, the uncovered part of his face wrung with frustration. After a moment, he took the score from her hands and paced along the base of the lake. Lisette sat very still, only fidgeting with the end of her braid when he wasn't looking to ease her suspense. At last, he returned, taking a fine pen and scratching out 'plague' and neatly writing 'torment' over top."

Lisette smiled, happy to see that he had been willing to take her advice on a non-musical topic.

"I'm glad to see you're much happier these days," Erik said after a few moments, collecting his score and putting it safely away on one of the many shelves lining his walls.

She blushed, immediately turning to the organ to avoid eye contact. "I am. My audition at the conservatoire is over which has eased my workload significantly."

"They would be fools not to hire you."

He said the words so passively that she almost didn't understand him. But once his words registered with her, she smiled. She stood, gathering her things, when a thought crossed her mind that had crossed it many times before, but she never had the courage to admit to it until now.

Erik was putting his coat back on, covering the white shirt that he often wore underneath and preparing to put his cloak back on as well. However, as he made his way to the gondola, she cleared her throat.

He looked at her, pausing as he began to slip a leather glove onto his hand.

"Erik," she said slowly. "I don't want you to think ill of me for asking this, but you have to know my curiosity."

It was as if he knew what she was preparing to ask him, for in a moment she saw several emotions flash across his eyes. The first was rage, then sorrow, and then finally reticent. He took off his cloak and glove, and stood fully to face her.

"You wish to know why I wear the mask," he said softly.

She dared take a step towards him. "Yes."

He looked away, then back at her, before turning and staring into the water lapping at his shoes. "I do not know if I am ready to show you."

It was in that moment that she had a suspicion that she held a connection with Erik. She did not know why he wore the mask. It certainly wasn't to protect his identity with half of his face exposed. She also knew he did not wear it for theatrical purposes from the way that he was constantly itching and adjusting it when she thought he wasn't looking. It clearly looked uncomfortable despite the efforts he made to hide it. The only conclusion she could come up with was that there was something on the right side of his face he did not wish anyone else to see.

Her feet led her to the water's edge, standing side by side with him. With a deep breath and a racing heart, she bent down, scooping some of the murky water in her hands and began to scrub at her face.

He remained silent, but she could tell from the way his boots shifted next to her that he was intrigued by what she was doing..

She stood up, wiping wet strands of hair from her eyes and using the base of her skirt to removee the last of the powder. For a moment, she let the cloth cover her eyes, thinking about what she was about to do. Letting her breath out slowly, she dropped her skirt and looked at him in the eyes.

"I try to hide this," she said, pointing at her scar. "There are days when I feel normal and I think no one can see it. I use my piano and organ playing to hide behind. I think I believe that if I'm able to prove myself through my playing that people will forget what my face looks like. However, I'm coming to the point where I'm realizing that this scar is a part of me and I cannot control how people react to it." Her voice faltered. "You are the first person I've been able to look at with a bare face in my time here in Paris. I am so ashamed—" Her voice broke once more and this time she was unable to continue, knowing full well she might burst into tears and knowing how uncomfortable it would make him feel.

Erik's expression was unreadable, but there was no anger and no pity. She saw his fingers flinch ever so slightly when her voice broke the second time, as if wanting to reach out, but they remained by her side. What she found the most interesting was instead of focusing on the scar on her face, he was staring into her eyes, something she was not able to accomplish with most people even when she was wearing powder.

"Everything about you," he said softly, careful to watch the emotion in his voice, "...makes sense now."

She wasn't quite sure what he meant, but she could tell that he was fighting inner turmoil and chose not to question him. It wasn't until she felt his gaze begin to burn did she at last look away, glancing at her small pocket watch.

"I need to get back," she said.

He nodded, collecting his cloak and gloves and ushering her onto the gondola. He was silent the entire way up to the surface of the opera house, but it did not make her feel uneasy. She could tell that he was deep in thought and predicted that she would not hear from him for a few days.

Just as she predicted, before he closed the door to the third cellar behind her, he said, "It may be a few weeks until we see each other again. I would like to spend some time revising the first act of my opera before I show it to you. I fear I am growing too impatient to continue at this slow pace."

She merely nodded, not offended, and watched him slowly close the door behind her, still carrying the confused and troubled expression. As she ascended the stairs, she was surprised to hear voices coming from the first cellar and pushed herself against a nearby wall, hoping she wouldn't be seen.

"The jewels!" she could hear Joseph Buquet cry. "You know very well what I'm talking about. Madame Giry told me that a patron had donated jewels for Marguerite to wear in the second act and that they were left in _your_ office while you were there. And you claim to not know their whereabouts?"

"Are you accusing me of thievery?" she heard the count reply. Her eyes grew wide upon the realization. How dare Joseph Buquet talk to him that way!

"All I'm saying is that one minute I'm told the jewels are in your office and that the next moment they're gone," Buquet replied.

"Well I will be sure to ask the cleaning maids if they've seen anything," the count said, his voice thick with resentment. " _Bonne nuit_ , Monsieur Buquet."

Lisette heard a pair of boots shuffle off and she waited a moment, contemplating revealing herself when a bright light appeared at the top of the stairs and she found herself .looking at a shocked count.

"Mademoiselle Geiger?" he said, trying to hide the red in his cheeks. "I didn't know you were there."

"I apologize," she said, taking a step closer to him. "I thought I had left an old score down here but was mistaken!" She made to pass him and hurry home, but when the lamp the count was holding shone on her face, she heard the slightest of noises escape the count's lips.

At first, she was unsure what happened. In one moment, the count took a step backwards, seemingly shocked at something and fell backwards. Before the lamp had the chance to hit the ground, Lisette had registered everything. She had forgotten that just moments before, she had washed all of the powder on her face away in the underground lake. The count had never seen her scar fully exposed and the shock of not only seeing her in the first cellar, but also bare-faced was enough to jar him. As these thoughts raced through her mind, the oil lamp hit the ground with a deafening crash and she let out a cry as flames began to lick up around them.

"Quick!" the count cried, quickly recovering and throwing her a large set of forgotten curtains. "Use these to beat the flames!"

Together, they used the old fabric to smother the fire until they were both panting and sweating with exhaustion. They were now completely consumed in darkness and Lisette struggled to make her eyes adjust. She heard the count moving around, muttering to himself as he bumped into furniture and scattered objects until at last she heard the click of the door and saw light flood in, leading up to the surface of the opera house.

"My apologies," he muttered, glancing away from her as she made her way past him and up the stairs. They were both now backstage, the performance hall eerily quiet with everyone being gone or in bed at this hour. At that moment, she longed to turn to the count and demand a reasoning for his avoidance. Anger began to bubble in her stomach and words from both Erik and Armel about the count's actions began ringing in her ears. Just when she thought she had summoned the strength to face him, she turned and saw him hurrying away, clearly understanding what she had intended to do.

She stared after him, trying to understand that last few weeks and the conservation she had just overheard with Joseph Buquet. However, she was surprised to find that his rejection of her face did not upset her as it might have once done. Instead, she thought of the way Erik had looked at her— _her_ —instead of her scar when she had removed the powder on her face. It seemed as if he was staring straight into her soul.

It was that moment that she was convinced she was right about a special connection between them.


End file.
